A Long Slow Burn
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: He's got nothing left, all he wants is something to ease the pain, not caring about the downward spiral.
1. Prolouge

A/N-No, I don't own them. And after tonights ep, I have a feeling this may well hit close to canon which is why I'm starting to post now. I'll finish Follow Your Heart...eventually. I've got two things biting me and telling me to finish it-one being the plot bunny, the other being my Beta-I thank her dearly though, she rocks, but she's the one to turn all the hatred about the lack of Follow Your Heart to...;) Just kidding GE, I wub you...But anyway, don't own them, they belong to Tim Kring and Allan and NBC, I'm just borrowing them (Well, mostly Garret) for my own devices...

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_ Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life. George Bernard Shaw_

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He stared down into the amber liquid and another gulp traced a warm path down. He felt it, just enough for him to be pleasantly warm, but it was not nearly enough to make him feel light-headed. That wasn't the purpose for it. There were times when that was what he did, sit there and go through glass after glass, but this night was not one of them.

This was taking the edge off, making him forget the pain. That's what this was. He finished off the glass and poured another, staring out the window. The nightlife was in that period of change, where the older crowd who had gone out for dinner, and maybe a movie was thinning out, heading home, and the young crowd was just heading out, ready for a night of club hopping and fun.

He took another sip. He didn't want to think about who should be in that crowd right now, he didn't want to think about anything. He wanted to forget. Another sip helped him on his path. He wanted to go to bed without the nightmares. He wanted a night where he wasn't haunted, he wanted to ignore the pain.

He looked up at the picture on the wall, and sat down hard on his couch, taking the picture down with him. She looked so vibrant in it, so utterly happy. He flipped it over, face down on the table, he didn't want to look at it, it hurt too much, to see her there, grinning at him, mocking him.

He offered up a toast to the patron saint of lost causes. He had never been a religious man, but what little faith he had was utterly gone. It was a mocking, bitter, toast. He had no where left to turn but backwards, turning his back on the things that had failed him the most, deceived him, toyed with him, hope and faith.

He took another gulp, unwinding a bit more, relaxing a bit more, but most of all forgetting a bit more. Forgetting the way that he had been duped by hope and faith, the way that they had picked him up and dropped him down, breaking him, shattering him. Forgetting the way that he had relied on them, praying for the first time in so long, his hopes building only to be violently shattered.

Once he had been an optimist, looking at the world as something new and bright and beautiful. Once he had been a fresh faced youth full of hope that the world would be better, that he could make a difference in it, full of faith in his fellow men. Once he had loved unconditionally, without a second thought. But now he knew better.

It hadn't taken long to replace that view with a more cynical one. A few months in the real world had taught him that man was a greedy, evil thing, looking out only for himself, and he had become another one just the same. It hadn't taken him long to learn that loving unconditionally just lead to getting your heart broken, but yet he still did, he still tried to make things work with every relationship.

Always in the back of his mind, he had hope. He had hope that he and Maggie would work out. He had hope that he and Rene would work out. He had hope that things would be OK, that everything would come out right in the end. But this time, hope had failed him, left him broken.

He drained the rest of the glass and felt it go straight to his head. That was his limit for the night, he wasn't intending to get drunk, he had to get up tomorrow, he didn't want the hangover, he was on cautious ground at work as it was. He was numb, that was the way he liked it. Numb enough to forget what had happened. Numb enough to sleep without the nightmares. This was what he needed.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N, do enjoy! This is my favorite thing yet...

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_ When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her. Sacha Guitry_

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He stared down at the phone, comprehending what had just happened, what he had just heard. She was getting remarried. She had just called, she thought he might want to know before he got the invitation, so it wouldn't catch him completely off guard. He had mumbled his congratulations, at least seeming as if he was happy for her.

She sounded absolutely giddy though, he could hear her grin through the phone as she talked about her new fiancé. She had thought a heads-up was appropriate. And she had launched into talking about how great things were going in her life, both with her new boyfriend and work, and how she was generally getting along better than she had in ages.

Completely oblivious to the effect it had on him. She had also asked him to dinner, to talk, and because Abby was coming back for the summer and for the wedding, to see what things were going to be like. Even though Abby had long since crossed into the majority, who got her when was an issue between them.

And he had agreed to go meet Maggie, meet the new fiancé. It was masochistic of him, but he was going. The two of them never had any real bad blood between them. He had been hurt by her leaving, but not hurt to the point of hate. They still could call each other friends-if nothing else they were completely civil to each other, and she had invited him to her wedding, just as he was sure he would invite her if he ever got remarried.

He laughed at the thought. If he ever got remarried. The if being the key word in that one. He looked at the clock. Quarter after five, he was meeting them at six. He could get down to the restaurant's in plenty of time if he walked, and he supposed the fresh air would do him good in clearing his mind. It was a nice September day, one of the ones where the weather is just cooling to the point of bearable.

He walked to the elevator and pushed the down button, waiting. He fidgeted, all but paced once he was ensconced in the small space. He never cared much for small spaces, he wasn't claustrophobic, but that didn't mean that he had to like them. It was even worse since every time he was in this one the only thing he could think of was riding it down wondering if he'd come back to a job. He had, but his mind still attached the elevator to the point of wondering what if.

He made the right turn out of the building and walked the familiar blocks down to the restaurant, thinking. He was happy for her, he supposed. She had moved on with her life, found someone else to love, he hadn't, it wasn't any fault of hers. He had gotten over her, they had tried the relationship thing again, and that had made him realize that he didn't want her again.

He ordered a glass of scotch from the bar while he waited for her to come. She would be here soon enough, but right now what he needed was a nice stiff drink. And the scotch was working quite well for that. He was halfway through it when he saw her walk in and she came right over to him, another man in tow.

He eyed the man on her arm as she introduced them. "Garret, this is Paul Whitford. Paul, this is Garret Macy." They shook hands, Paul with a grin on his face, not the type of a grin that meant he was up to something, but a truly jovial grin.

"So, Garret, nice to meet you." He nodded in response.

"Nice to meet you." He said as they claimed their table.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Paul asked and he shrugged.

"I'm a medical examiner." He smiled slightly as Paul tried to place why he knew that term.

"He cuts up dead people." Maggie described bluntly and he had no choice but to grin as Paul looked both interested and green at the same time.

"What do you do?" He asked the other man.

"I'm an accountant." Thoughts of Monty Python sprang to mind, but he wisely kept his tongue in check. They all ordered and lapsed into small talk.

Paul was a generally good natured guy. He found it hard to dislike the other man, he was very average looking, an all around good guy. Very much like Woody in that respect, he looked the stereotypical suburban king. And impossible to dislike. He tried to find a thing to hate about him, but found it harder and harder the more he talked to him.

He had to concede that if Maggie had someone else, at least she had found someone else that was good. "So Paul's sister and niece are going to be staying in our house, is it alright if Abby stays with you?" He nodded.

"Yeah." He agreed.

"She's coming in next week." he nodded again, and processed it. Maybe this was his chance to rebuild the broken relationship with his daughter. And Maggie did look really happy. Maybe this was the chance for him to start rebuilding his life and changing it, fixing it. He grinned and lifted his glass in a silent toast to whoever, whatever, was possibly turning his life into something better.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N enjoy this, I can't wait to start posting the REALLY DarkGarret!

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_I was so much older then  
I'm younger than that now  
-Bob Dylan  
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_"So." He said pouring out two glasses.

"So." She replied, picking up one of the glasses and taking a small sip. "How do you drink this stuff?" She asked, the look on her face plainly saying what she thought of it. He laughed.

"You get used to it." He said simply, taking a sip of it himself. "How's college?" He asked, sitting down across from her.

"It's going pretty well. Exams are coming up way too fast." She grinned none the less though.

"Any idea on what you're going to do once they let you out into the real world?" She shrugged.

"Well-" She trailed off with a smirk.

"Well, what?" He asked, hoping that it was something that was at least somewhat respectable.

"I was thinking about going to law school-I took the LSAT's already, and have the scores and the GPA to get into Harvard-" The stunned look on his face made her burst out laughing and he had to join in with a grin of his own. "What, you thought I was going to say I wanted to be a porn star or something?"

He chuckled. "I can't say that I wouldn't put it past you-" She gave him a smack, but the grin remained on her face. "That's wonderful though." It was, it was a wonderful surprise. Harvard. That was something he had never expected from her. She was smart, she was everything to be proud of.

She was getting her life back together. She had done an abrupt about-face from where she had been when she had graduated from high school four years previously. Her chaotic life was falling into order, climbing back up from the downhill spiral she had been on before. She popped a stick of gum in her mouth and ground it back and forth a few times before grinning. "Thanks." She said, taking another sip of the burning liquid and making the same face she had before.

"It grows on you." He said simply, taking a sip to prove it. "And it tastes much better without gum." She laughed. "You've grown up." He pointed out after a minute and she shrugged.

"Not up, really, just less stupid. Enough to know when to act mature and when to be the ditz I am." He smiled faintly with a nod. "And it made me realize some things. Like fighting with you over every little thing is stupid." He blinked. Twice.

"How much of that did you drink?" He gestured to the glass in front of her and she laughed.

"I didn't say that I've sworn off fighting with you completely. I just realized that fighting with you over everything is stupid. The less I fight with you the more likely I win." He chuckled. She was going to make a great lawyer. She had the instincts. "Speaking of that-I do have a favor to ask of you.." She trailed off.

"What?" He expected it to be asking him to pay for law school, he had the money for it, that wasn't a problem.

"Well, I know mom said that I can have her house for the summer when I get out-but for now, while I'm staying with you, you mind if my boyfriend stays too?" He was tempted to say no. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but he saw the look on her face. She had grown up. He could give her one little thing.

"Is he a nice guy?" She grinned and nodded.

"Nicer than Paul, even. Polite, calm, quiet, he's an engineering major-already has been accepted to MIT." He nodded. At least she hadn't picked some of the boys she had dragged in before.

"Just don't do anything with him in my house that you wouldn't want to walk in on me doing." He didn't want to think of some of the things that he knew his daughter knew.

She made a disgusted face. "Ewww, parent sex, gross.

"So how have you been?" He shrugged.

"Same old, same old." He replied, with another sip disappearing from the tumbler. Her eyebrow quirked upward, a trait she had learned from him.

"Really? Last I heard you were dating the DA." He frowned.

"That ended a while ago." She shrugged.

"So who are you dragging to Mom's wedding then?" It was his turn to shrug.

"Probably Jordan." He hadn't thought about it, really. At least Jordan would be someone that he could talk to, that he knew.

"So in other words, your life is as boring as it can be?" He nodded with a grin.

"So, looking forward to graduation?" She nodded, energetically, grinning broadly.

"Can't wait. Law School, then out in the real world."

"Choosing not to follow in my footsteps?" He mocked looking hurt.

"Can't do the blood, guts and gore."

"Don't blame you." He stood up as his phone rang.

"Is it OK if I take your car home?" She asked and he fished his keys out of his pocket, tossing them to her. "So Blake can come over tonight?" She verified.

"Like I said, just don't do anything you don't want to see me doing."

"Deal." she said and hugged him. "Thanks dad." She walked out leaving him alone to answer the phone.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N-Right, another chapter, there's a ton more where this is coming from

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_Marriage is a three ring circus: engagement ring, wedding ring, and suffering. --Anonymous_

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"Dance, at least for the video." He looked up to see Jordan standing next to him before he shook his head. "I've danced with everyone here except you-and you're the one that dragged me here." He rolled his eyes and took a long gulp of scotch before getting up and taking her hand, pulling her into the familiar position. 

"Happy?" He asked as they swayed in time to the music. The DJ was far from the best, they were dancing to a sad sappy breakup song, but he really didn't care.

"Yes." She said finally. "And don't look so pissed off, if it was that much of a problem you could have turned down the invitation." He faked a smile. "Better." She said. "Just think, some other poor soul is winding up with the old ball and chain." That actually brought a real smile to his face.

"Thank God for that." He said, pulling away slowly as the song ended. They both sat down at the table, and he resumed drinking his scotch.

"Abby looks happy." She pointed out, and he nodded. "And her boyfriend seems nice too." He looked over to where the two of them were dancing.

"Yeah." He agreed. Blake was a nice guy, polite and quiet, never speaking unless spoken to. Although the boy did seem to possess a large amount of nervous energy, always busy doing something or another with complete and total focus on whatever was at hand. But he had never seen Abby happier.

She looked better than she had when she was in high school as well, she was thin, but not to the point that would worry him, she ate, and she never seemed guilty at all about eating, just was always on the go. She was in the prime of her life, constantly out and about and not showing it at all.

Paul came over and sat down across from them. "I don't blame you for getting out." He said with a congenial grin.

"Yeah, you're just at the tip of the iceberg. She's wonderful, provided you're not as stubborn as she is." Paul laughed.

"I'm no type A, believe me. I don't mind it that much. But like I said, I don't blame you for getting out, especially if you are just like her." He grinned in response. Maggie, had, at least, picked a decent, nice guy.

"So, Paul, how did you and Maggie meet?" Paul shrugged at Jordan's question.

"We lived a few houses away from each other, we'd see each other from time to time, say hello, but one day, just out of nowhere, I noticed her, like she was someone who I'd never seen before." She nodded.

"Sounds romantic." He fought the urge to snort into his glass of scotch. It was romantic, he had to admit that, but he was never much of a romantic.

"Yeah." Paul agreed before springing up. "Guess it's time to cut the cake." He gestured to the small side table where the cake stood tall and they followed him over to watch the spectacle.

At least both Maggie and Abby had picked decent guys. Now if only he could find a decent girl, life would be good.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N-I just realized, I never warned you guys. The light happy fluff is going to go bye bye very very soon. So if you don't like extreme angst I suggest you stop reading when you can end on something fluffy and happy-this is about a downward spiral that's about as happy as a DH Lawrence novel (though quite less sexual-and hopefully easier to read) But anyway, the fluff stops soon and it suddenly takes a very dark turn, if you don't like stuff like that, I suggest you stop reading it now...

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_The Grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for. Allan K Chalmers_

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He sat down at the table, working his way through a plate of pasta. Abby and Blake sat across from him, each of them picking at their meals. "My cooking can't be that bad." He said and Abby grinned before eating a mouthful.

"It's not, just been a little stressed out recently."

He chuckled. "You just graduated."

She shrugged. "Yeah, but I just applied to Harvard."

Blake chuckled. "Nothing to worry about, you'll get in."

The boy pushed his hair back out of his face. He wasn't what you would think of when you pictured an engineer in your head, he was tallish, about six foot, stick thin with mousy colored hair that seemed to be in constant need of a haircut and a face that seemed to be in constant need of a shave. Not to mention that his fashion tended more towards loose cargo pants and tee shirts.

"Easy for you to say, MIT wanted you before you finished college." Blake shrugged and took a small bite of the pasta, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing.

He watched their exchange impassively. They got along quite well and were constantly making each other grin. The two of them looked cute together, he had to admit that, Blake was a nice guy. He looked at the boy who was at the moment focusing intently on spelling things out with the pasta on his plate. And Abby had at least picked a guy with intelligence, the boy couldn't be an idiot and get into MIT.

The two of them picked some more at their meals before deciding they were finished. He looked up at them, finishing off his own plate. Blake got up before he could, and easily swept all three plates away and into the sink. Yes, the boy was a good guy, aside from the way he could talk too much and was always working on something, fidgeting when he had nothing to occupy him, he had to approve of his daughter's taste.

The three of them retired to his living room and he offered them each a glass of scotch. He had to smirk at Abby's reaction, Blake seemed rather impassive. He took a sip and watched as the boy did the same thing. Abby fought down her own sip. "Compared to beer, this stuff sucks."

"Doesn't suck, just different." Blake pointed out, taking another sip. Abby pulled out a pack of gum and offered a piece to both he and Blake, he declined, Blake took it and popped it in his mouth with practiced ease. "So, just how much fun is cutting up dead bodies for a living?"

He shrugged. "Depends. Some days it's interesting, to say the least, when you've got a mystery to solve. Others it's fairly boring. And then there's the paperwork." Abby frowned.

"Don't mention that word, it's the one thing I'm looking forward to least about being a lawyer." He chuckled.

"Hey, at least you get to see the light of day from time to time. I get to become a slave tied to doing math problems day and night." Blake grinned and downed the rest of his glass with ease.

"Yeah, but you like doing icky math all day." Abby countered and he shrugged.

"Liking and being good at are two different things. I like football, doesn't mean I'm good at it." The boy flexed his scrawny arm to emphasize his point.

"Anyway, Dad, Blake and I have to run, I promised Jenna that we'd go out tonight, and if I still have to get home-" She trailed off and he nodded, getting up along with the two of them.

"Thanks for dinner Dr. Macy." Blake said, walking to the door.

"See you Dad." He nodded, and hugged his daughter, shaking Blake's hand as the two of them walked out.

He smiled to himself, she had straightened herself out, was happier than ever, and had picked a good guy for once. He had every reason to be happy for her, she had sorted out the mess that she had been and grown up. They could finally put their tumultuous past behind them and move on with their lives.

He downed the rest of his glass of scotch, and what was left of Abby's before calling it an early night. His life was starting to fall back into place for the first time since Maggie had left, for the first time his life was looking good, for the first time in a while he was actually looking forward to the morning not as another routine day but as a new day, a great day. He chuckled, wondering what had happened to the cynic in him.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N I think y'all know what's coming. If not, c'mon, what else did you expect from me? Especially those of you who've read my other stuff-you should know my tricks better than that. ;) But anyway, on with the fic. I've got the rest of it (ok, not through to the end-but at least through chapter 30) so don't worry, it's not going to be abandoned here. And anyone else upset that FOX is preempting House for post-season baseball?

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_There is a paradox in pride: it makes some men ridiculous, but prevents others from becoming so. -Charles Caleb Colton_

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The letter lay on the table, waiting for it to be opened, begging someone to open it. The three of them sat around it, staring at it. Her lower jaw was grinding back and forth as she stared at it. "Open it." Blake said, nudging it closer to her.

"What if-" She started.

"One way to find out." He said and Blake nodded his agreement.

"It's thick, that's a good thing." Blake pointed out.

"Not always." She replied, picking it up and spinning it back and forth in her hands.

"Just open it before I open it for you." Blake finally said, staring hard at it.

"I'm afraid-" She started an the boy pulled it out of her hands and tore it open, skimming it over.

"Oh." Blake said simply, continuing to read. Her face fell and she stared down at the ground, with a bit of a shrug.

"Well there's always Columbia-" She started and he frowned.

"Why apply there?" Blake asked.

"Well it's a good school-"

"No, I mean why waste your money applying to another law school when you've already got into one so close to your darling boyfriend?" It took her a second to realize what he had done before squealing and punching Blake.

"You bastard!" She said, before throwing her arms around the boy and kissing him soundly. "You really had me going there."

He had watched the exchange between the two with a bemused expression and chuckled at the way she had gone from a death glare to a passionate kiss. He remembered when he was that young. "Congratulations." He said, raising his glass in a toast, and three glasses clinked into each other. She downed the sip with less distaste than usual. "I'll make a scotch drinker out of you yet." He laughed and welcomed her hug.

"You know what this calls for?" Blake asked. "This calls for a celebration." She grinned.

"It does." The two of them got up, and he followed them out to the door. He shook Blake's hand firmly, before wrapping Abby up in a tight hug.

"That's wonderful." He said simply, grinning. "I'm so proud of you." The grin on her face made all the years of hell that he went through with her worth it.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she slid out the door. "Thanks Dad." She said simply, heading out, tightly wrapped in Blake's arms. He sat down in his recliner, still grinning, beaming with paternal pride.

He flipped on the TV, but really wasn't paying much attention at all to the way that the Sox were beating the Yankees, he hadn't even noticed five innings flying by. His baby girl was going to Harvard. His baby girl was going to go out there and become a lawyer, become something respectable, do something with her life, when four years previously he would have been happy if she got out of high school in one piece, without being pregnant or a crack whore, and now here she was going on to Harvard.

Not even the ringing phone could break his mood. "Macy." He answered simply.

"Garret-you need to come in." Jordan's voice held an unusually somber note, enough to wipe the smile off of his face, but not enough to make him feel bad.

"Why?" He asked and he heard the note of hesitation in her voice.

"Something's come up." She said, and he nodded, something felt very wrong, and he got into his car with a feeling that he couldn't quite place lurking in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't know what it was, nor could it erase the sheer pride.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N-see the end.

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_Hello cruel world  
Did I keep you long?  
You've waited so patiently To torture my soul  
To ruin my life  
My anguish, your ecstasy  
And I've compalianed  
But it's to no avail  
I've complained  
Day after day _

_-Voltaire, Hello Cruel World_

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There was a dark, somber tone when he walked in, more so than usual, more so than he had ever seen before. The entire staff was there, each one looking somber and sullen. "What is it?" He asked as he walked in and Jordan stepped forward.

"Garret-" Jordan began and he cut her off with a glare.

"Jordan, what the hell is going on?" She had started walking towards the crypt and he followed her. She took a deep breath.

"Garret-" She started again, opening one of the drawers. He felt the blood drain away from his body as the tray rolled out. Her hand was on him, soothing him and helping to hold him up as his knees buckled beneath him.

She was there, cold, peaceful. His baby girl. He grasped one gray hand tightly. It shouldn't be that cold. It surprised him how cold she was. She looked like she was sleeping, she looked so peaceful, so calm, so quiet. "What happened?" He asked softly, unable to tear his eyes away from the body.

"Her boyfriend called EMS-said she just collapsed. There was an MD at the restaurant, he pronounced her and the cops called us. Garret, I didn't know. I sent Sydney out on the pickup." He stroked the long blond hair, still soft and silky, still smelling of the shampoo that she used.

"Who's doing the-" He couldn't say the word. It would confirm it, mean that his baby girl was gone forever.

"I was going to." She said quietly and he nodded. He could sense the rest of the staff crowding at the door.

"Dr. M-" Nigel began and he finally tore his eyes away from the body.

"Garret-I'm so sorry!" Lily rushed in, unable to stand it any longer, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He accepted the hugs from each member of the staff, thankful for their support, but more than anything, wanting to be alone with a nice bottle of scotch.

Jordan was the last one to file back out of the crypt. "Take you're time, and we're all here for you." She said simply, holding him close for a long minute before leaving him alone. He looked back down at the body, holding her hand. He stared down at her for a long minute before laying a gentle kiss to the lips that felt strangely cold, and closing the drawer, heading back to his office.

Right now what he needed more than anything was a stiff drink. He had gotten halfway through his glass when Blake entered, looking ragged and torn. He poured the boy a measure and they sat there, both drinking in silence. They sat there, stoic only because they were too numb to feel emotion, not because they didn't want to, simply because the reality hadn't set in yet. They sat there drinking, silently commiserating.

Jordan walked in somewhere through their fourth glass, a folder in hand. "What happened?" He asked her and she leaned against the door frame.

"Heart failure due to extreme hypertension." She said and both men looked up at her.

"A heart attack?" Blake questioned and she nodded.

"But she had no symptoms of a heart problem, Maggie and I are both in good shape-" He trailed off, looking up at her. He could see it on her face, there was something she wasn't saying. "What caused it Jordan?"

"Garret-" She began.

"What happened?" He asked again, a cold edge to his voice.

"Hypertension secondary to serotonin syndrome." He thought about it, wracking his brain for where he knew the term.

"Serotonin syndrome?" Blake asked.

"The presence of too much serotonin in the brain, flooding the receptors, is often mistaken for being drunk due to the impaired speech and motor control of the patient, common symptoms are confusion, myoclonus, diaphoresis and in a third of all cases sinus tachycardia and death result." He quoted, remembering the study he had read. Jordan nodded gravely in response. He was amazed that he had remembered that, he didn't know why he did, but he had, he had remembered the article, but now he didn't want to.

He tried to remember the cause of it. "Jordan, what was she on?" He asked and she opened her mouth and closed it.

"Garret-" She began.

"Give me the report." He asked, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. She held his glare for one long moment before handing over the folder and he flipped through it. "Tox screen shows amounts of nortriptyline and-" No. He didn't want to believe it.

"Desoxyn." Blake said quietly and he turned on the boy.

"You knew? You knew about it and didn't do anything?" He had pinned the boy by the throat to the wall. "You knew about it, you didn't care, and you let my little girl die?"

"Garret!" Jordan screamed, but he barely heard her. He didn't notice her trying to pry him away, it took Nigel coming in to finally remove his hand from Blake's throat. The boy collapsed, his head in his hands.

"I didn't think it would happen-it's all my fault." Blake sobbed. "I was the one who gave them to her-she just wanted to do well, I started giving them to her, she wanted to be able to stay up all night to study and stay focused on the stuff, and well, they helped with that. I got her hooked. And I didn't even think-she said that she had just switched doctors and prescriptions since she doesn't have Campus Wellness anymore-I should have thought about it, I should have been paying more attention, I shouldn't have shrugged it off, I just thought she was drunk, I was going to laugh at her but then she started freaking out and I started freaking out and the next thing I knew she was dead." The boy was in hysterics, and he had to feel sorry for him, somewhat.

The boy looked like he truly had no clue what was going to happen. "She just wanted to prove that she was something other than a disappointment, that's all she said she wanted to be-and I just shared what worked for me-I didn't think that it would be that bad for her, I've used them for four years and had no problems, I got her hooked, and it's all my fault." Blake continued to ramble on, gasping between sobs.

He looked at the boy, and set his face tightly. "God, Dr. Macy, I didn't mean to kill her, I loved her, I just wanted to see her happy-" He helped the boy up from the ground. Blake looked ready to die himself. He couldn't hate the boy that much, at least Blake knew what he was feeling, somewhat. The boy latched onto him, sobbing into his shoulder and he felt a lump in his own throat growing.

But there was nothing he could say. Instead he just stood there for a long minute before Blake unhooked himself and downed two glasses of scotch in quick succession. "I'm-I'm really sorry Dr. Macy." The boy said before walking out, leaving him alone to down another glass by himself. He wanted to hate the boy but couldn't, the raw emotion in Blake said it all-the boy was truly sorry for what happened, it was something that was going to haunt the boy for the rest of his life.

* * *

A/N-C'mon. Did you really think I was going to let it be that happy? No, this is angst. This is something that is going to be pure angst. But of course, I had to build up to something that would be a hard blow. Hence the first 5 chapters. Just a note-Desoxyn is prescription methamphetamine-usually given for severe ADD/ADHD. Nortryptoline is an anti-depressant (for the life of me, I can't remember what the brand name for it is...) that has been known to cause serotonin syndrome when combined with any variation on amphetamine...and, yes, serotonin syndrome is a real and potentially serious problem from when two drugs get combined-most notably anti-depressants and most recreational drugs. I do have to thank the folks over at Bluelight for giving me a hand with a plausible way for Abby to kick it.  



	8. Chapter 7

A/N So here you go, something to brighten up a morning. Bye! oh, and thanks for reviewing

* * *

_ So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind.  
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time.  
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial.  
For what it's worth, it was worth all the while.  
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.  
I hope you had the time of your life._

_-GreenDay, Good Riddance _

_

* * *

_

The coffin felt surprisingly light against his shoulder. There were five other men helping to support the weight, but it still felt lighter than it should. He looked over next to him where the boy was supporting his end stoically, trying to fight back the tears. He could feel the lump in his throat, but it didn't want to budge. It just sat there, unmoving.

A limo had never felt more claustrophobic to him than now. He had never felt like he wanted to claw his way out of a place before, but now he did. The entire drive to the cemetery was entirely too long, even though it was only a few blocks. He wanted it to be over already, he wanted to go home and get drunk and forget about it.

The graveside service had already started when his mind slid back into focus from wherever it had been. He didn't even know where it had drifted off to, just that it had. Paul had been gracious enough to give up the seat next to Maggie, acknowledging that even though the other man may have had her, he still had the right to be there as the father of her child.

The hardest thing he had ever done was making the call to Maggie, Jordan had offered, but he knew it was something he had to do himself. She'd sounded so calm at first until he'd heard her telling Paul what the call was about. Her sobs through the phone had cut through him like a knife. The last thing he heard her say as Paul hung up the phone was that her child couldn't be gone.

The child that was now safely ensconced in the wooden casket. The child that lay in there, cold and empty, and dead. Just dead. Gone. Here one minute and gone the next. She had looked so bright, so alive just hours before Jordan had called him, telling him to come in, she had been so vibrant just hours before he saw her lying there, cold and dead.

He found Maggie's hand to be gripped tightly in his own, she was crying on his shoulder as they sat there as the preacher read the last words. He had never been much of a religious man, Abby had only gone to Catholic school so that she wouldn't have to go to Boston's public schools, not for any personal preference of his.

He had never seen the point in religion. It was something to put blind faith into, and he never put blind faith into anything. If it was not tangible, he did not believe in it, if it could not be proven, he didn't believe in it. It was what grated on him about Nigel, the boy's ability to believe any story about the paranormal that came through the morgue.

He frowned, thinking about that place, it was the place that this had started. If it wasn't for that, he wouldn't be thinking about his baby laying there on a cold metal table like all the others that he had wheeled in. Only she wasn't just another dead body for him to cut up and go "guess why they died." It was his little girl, dead.

She would never laugh again, never have that same spark of life. She would never get to go to Harvard Law School, she would never get to beg him to borrow the car again, she would never fight with him again over the most mundane things like whether or not what she was wearing was appropriate.

It was funny how the one thing that his mind dwelled on missing the most was the fights. But they were just so central to their relationship that he couldn't not think of them. He had to remember them, and realize that there was never going to be another one, realize that never again would she storm out in an angry fit.

Blake sat on the other side of him, sobbing uncontrollably. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy-he couldn't blame him, not when he saw the way that Abby's death had affected him as well. He wrapped a consoling arm around the boy's shoulders and Blake looked up at him with at tinge of admiration in the ice colored eyes.

The service seemed to take far too long. But at the same time, it seemed to end much to suddenly. It felt as if there should be more to it, that it should be a priest saying a few words, and then suddenly the entire line was filing forward, gently laying red roses on top of the casket before it was lowered into the ground.

Jordan was there, lurking in the background. He wrapped his arm around her, longing for any human contact. "You OK?" She asked as he opened the door of the black limo for her.

"Yeah." He lied as they drove back. He wound up being dropped off first and he crawled up to his apartment and poured himself a nice large glass of scotch. He needed it right now.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N-Right, here's somethng fun for y'all-well, not really FUN, well, I thought it was fun, but it's all angsty goodness.

* * *

_Doctor, doctor won't you please prescribe somethin  
A day in the life of someone else?  
Cuz I'm a hazard to myself  
Don't let me get me  
I'm my own worse enemy  
It's bad when you annoy yourself_

_Pink-Don't Let Me Get Me _

_

* * *

_

"Howard, remind me again why I'm here?"He sat in the chair staring at the little man, wishing this was over.

"Because you're still grieving and I'm here to make sure that you're coping." He shrugged.

"I'm coping, I'm settling back into normal life, aren't I?" He replied, leaning back in his chair.

"But that doesn't mean that you're coping-just that you're continuing on, thinking you're coping." He hated the way that the man could make himself sound so smart. He was coping, he was moving on with his life. "How often do you think about her?" He shrugged. He didn't know, he didn't count. Too often.

"A couple of times a day." He admitted and Howard nodded his head.

"And what do you usually think about?" The way that he should have noticed the signs? The way she was always hyper? The jaw grinding? The weight loss? The way she picked at her food without really eating it? The way she never slept? How if he had noticed it, things wouldn't have happened that way?

Whenever he thought about her, he thought of what Blake had said-that she wanted to be something that wasn't a disappointment. And he was the one that had constantly make her think that-that she wasn't good enough, that she was in some way bad, broken. She had become a drug addict to prove herself to him, and he hadn't noticed at all. He thought about the way he was blind to everything. "I think about the relationship we had." He said, it was neutral ground.

"Ah, the infamous rocky relationship. Do you regret the relationship that you had with her, do you think that you should go back and change it since?" He shrugged. Howard was looking pissed at that reaction, but it was the only one he could think of. He wanted to go back and change it. If he had known that he wouldn't get any extra time with her, he wouldn't have fought with her as much, he wouldn't have forced her to live up to his standards.

But to change it would be to admit defeat. And he didn't want to do that. "I wouldn't have fought with her as much." He admitted and Howard made a mental note of that.

"So you are saying that something went wrong in your relationship." A lot of things had gone wrong.

"I was a little cold-hearted sometimes." Howard laughed and he fought the urge to punch the diminutive psychologist.

"A little? Garret, you could give the Bruins ice rink a run for it's money with being cold." He glared at the other man which just made him laugh all the more. "What upset you the most about her death?" He didn't know, honestly, there so many things.

The way it snuck up on him, just came out of nowhere, with no warning, no way to prepare for it. "Was it that she was on drugs? That she was on antidepressants? On meth? That it was her boyfriend that gave it to her?" It was all of that. Everything that Stiles had just listed.

He hadn't even thought she had a problem. He had just thought she was moody. But he had gone back over her medical records, she had started talking to a campus shrink, who had stuck her on antidepressants. It was part of what had killed her. If she wasn't on them, she wouldn't have died, if she hadn't switched meds, it wouldn't have had the effect that it had, she would still be alive.

But he hated Blake at the same time that he felt sorry for the boy. But there was the nagging feeling in his mind that Blake had simply saved her from an earlier death. That if she hadn't met Blake that she would have been dead before, that once she had met the boy that her life took it's upswing. But he still wanted to hate the boy because it was Blake's fault that she was gone, he was the one that had given her the pills.

"It was that she was fine that afternoon." He said. "She was there, in my house, talking, she had just gotten into Harvard-" He felt a lump in his throat build and he fought to swallow it down. The phone on Howard's desk rang and he answered it irately.

"That would be the end of our session, but if you don't show any signs of moving on with your life, you can guarantee I'll be making you see me again." He nodded and got up, shaking the other man's hand, before walking out of the door. Right now, what he needed was a good, stiff drink.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N And let the angst begin. It all goes downhill from here. Well, it's kinda a slow descent for a few chaps and then right off a bridge...

* * *

_ And we just want sleep  
But this night is hell  
I'm sick and sunk and I blame myself_

_Brand New-Failure by Design_

* * *

She was there, she was sitting across from him, laughing with him. She had a glass of scotch in her hand, sipping it and making fun of him. "I'll make you a scotch drinker yet." He said with a grin and she laughed.

Suddenly, she changed, she was standing over him, a look of pity, a look of rage on her face. "Maybe." She said, staring at him. "Maybe if you had noticed, you would get to turn me into a scotch drinker." This wasn't her, this wasn't his Abby. This was evil.

"What?" He started and the body rose up off the floor.

"Why didn't you notice? How could you have missed it dad? How could you have been so blind to see your daughter slipping away before you? Were you too busy to notice me? Too busy to see your baby girl dying in front of you? Were you too busy to love me?" She was standing nose to nose with him.

"No-" He started. It wasn't true. He wasn't too busy. He noticed, he just didn't want to see it. He had noticed it and had come up with excuses for it, because he didn't want to believe that his baby was still on a downward spiral. He had noticed it but his mind had refused to let him comprehend it.

He backed away from her. "No." he repeated, backing over the chair, onto the floor, crawling backwards. "No, I love you, I do-" He started, and she came closer and closer.

"You always were so harsh on me. You always were so mean-arguing over the stupidest thing, over giving me anything, and you say you love me?"

"Please, Abby, baby-" He wanted to hold her, pull her tight, tell her that he did love her, prove to her that he did love her. He wanted to do something that show that he did care.

"Why, are you just going to try and turn me into your perfect standard?"

"No, you were always perfect-" he started, trying to back away again, but hitting the wall.

"I was never good enough for you, and you always let me know it." She kept closing in on him, and when they finally touched he awoke with a start.

He was dripping with a cold sweat, tangled in the sheets. He sat up straight, trying to catch his breath, panting. In and out. In and out. Eventually it slowed to something just shy of hyperventilating. He needed a drink.

He retreated back to the living room, grabbing his bottle of scotch and a glass en route and poured out a generous measure. He downed it in two gulps and poured another, which was gone in three. The third glass he sipped, enjoying the long slow burn down his throat.

He wanted to erase the nightmare. Erase her. Erase the blind fear, the black depression that he had felt. He was lost without her, he had always loved her, but it was truly a case of never knowing the water until the well was dry. He didn't realize how much she meant to him and how bad of a father he had been until she was gone. And it left him broken. He should have known, and he didn't, he had been a horrible father.

Every time he thought about her, he wanted to break down, but something stopped him, he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. The lump in his throat would form, tears would sting his eyes, but they would never fall. Never, no matter how much he wanted them to, he couldn't sob for her, he wanted to break down, but he couldn't. He couldn't sob, couldn't cry for his own daughter. He didn't even shed a tear at the funeral.

He downed the rest of the glass with one long gulp. He was a horrible person. He felt the grip of the booze, the familiar lightheadedness and he grinned, downing one last glass before capping the bottle and heading back into the bedroom, ready to sleep the dreamless sleep of the drunk. The pain was dulled and he had chased away the nightmares.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N-Alright the REAL angst comes in another chapter or two later.But enjoy what we have so far. And Katie-Hi!

* * *

_Who's that knockin' on my door this mornin'  
Can't they see I'm dead  
There ain't nothin' left to do this mornin'  
'cept to make it to my bed...  
...Oh, how am I gonna stake my claim on the future  
When I cannot lift my head  
Oh, I ain't nothin' but a drunken loser  
And my liver's overfed _

America-Hangover

* * *

The alarm was far too loud and the room was far too bright. He groaned and fished around in his nightstand for one of the small packets of Alka-Seltzer that he kept there purely for that purpose and downed them with practiced ease before getting out of bed and walking gingerly to the shower, turning the water onto one step shy of sauna. 

He let the hot water run over his body, relaxing muscles and trying to ease the pounding in his head. Strong fingers rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache away, trying to ease the morning after. Eventually he felt somewhat closer to human, close enough for him to get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He half considered shaving but didn't feel up to it, more than likely he'd nick himself and he hated having to clean up the never ending blood supply that came from a nick.

He ran his hands down his face, trying to do something, anything to ease the throbbing. He wasn't going to drink this much on a work night. Especially not that close to how early he needed to get up. He wanted to go back to sleep for another four hours, but he didn't have that luxury.

Instead he grabbed his sunglasses off the table by the door, and didn't bother to take them off once he was in the building. Florescent lighting was more than he could take. He walked in and sat down at his desk, leaning his head down on it. "Hey boss." Jordan said, walking in. He merely grunted in response, not lifting his head.

"I have a migraine, go away." He said, the sound muffled by the fact that he was talking directly into wood. She laughed, a sound which he normally enjoyed cutting deep into his brain.

"And lemme guess. That migraine's name is Johnny Walker?" He grunted. "Right." He heard her collapse onto his couch. "So that means that you're not doing any autopsies this morning and would love to do my paperwork instead where you don't have to put up with all that bright light?" Her voice was purposely in it's upper register and annoyingly loud.

He groaned in pain and looked up at her. "Are you delighting in torturing me?" He complained. She grinned and nodded, and he let his head slump back down onto the desk. "Now leave, and tell everyone that the next one to bother me gets fired." She laughed, the sound still cutting through him. "Out." He ordered, and she complied, closing the blinds and shutting off the lights for him before gently closing the door.

He fought to stop the throbbing in his head. That was a very stupid thing that he had done. If he had done it when he had come home it wouldn't have been that bad, he would have slept the worst part of it off. But no, he had done it at two in the morning after waking up from that nightmare.

And he was never going to do it again, never was he going to drink to the point of getting drunk on a work night. He still wasn't back on firm footing again, he still had to watch out for Slokum to find the first thing to call him on. He couldn't risk coming in with hangovers. He knew his limit.

He sat there, head down, wishing his stomach would stop lurching and his head would stop throbbing long enough for him to at least look at the paperwork. He didn't even remember how much he drank-he thought it was five glasses, but he wasn't sure. He remembered the nightmare, worse than the usual ones that he had, and remembered grabbing a bottle and a glass, and after the second one things started to go hazy. Right now, the only thing that he knew had happened was he had drank himself into a hangover. But he wasn't going to do that again.


	12. Chapter 11

A/N The angst continues...

* * *

_ You are just a picture  
And a thousand memories  
Is all I take with me  
'Cuz your smile  
Is just too much to see  
You're just a thousand memories  
Fantasies, broken dreams_

_Bad Religion-1000 Memories_

* * *

"Hey doc." The boy behind the counter said, keying in the familiar price into the battered old cash register.

"Hi." he mumbled, fishing out his wallet.

"How're you doing doc? I heard about Abby-" The boy had a sympathetic look on his face, a small frown with big caring eyes. He frowned in response, both from the memory and from the realization that he was lacking cash. He pulled out his credit card and fought back a groan, he hated having to charge things at the archaic liquor store.

"I'm doing alright." He said, fighting not to tap his foot as the boy swiped the card through and the sound of the machine dialing echoed off damp cement. It wasn't the boy's fault, just how old and archaic the place was.

"She was a nice girl, smart too. Really popular, everyone loved her." He wanted to leave. He didn't want to have to talk about her to the boy. He couldn't quite remember the clerk's name, but he knew that the boy had gone to school with Abby, been a friend of hers. But yet, he didn't want to remember the boy, remember what she had been, remember her at all, it hurt too much.

It was bad enough that this was his second time in here that week. His second bottle of scotch in a week. That couldn't be good, but he wasn't getting drunk, he wasn't out getting wasted, binging. He wasn't going into work with hangovers, once was enough. Just drinking every now and then, here and there. Two or three before bed just to stave off the nightmares.

It was no worse than the way he was drinking when Maggie left him. He wasn't drinking to the point of being drunk, it took too much to do that. He briefly thought that might be a bad thing. A few months ago four glasses would have him drunk, now it was two or three just to get him barely tipsy.

But he wasn't getting drunk. He never drank to the point of waking up with a hangover, with a few rare exceptions on weekends. On work nights he would just stay up if the nightmares bothered him and a glass or two wouldn't work. He wasn't going to turn into a lush.

That was the one thing he was not going to do. He was being very careful about watching his alcohol intake. He was not going to become just another statistic, another alcoholic, no, that was the one thing he wasn't going to do. He kept himself tightly in control, it was one of the things he prided himself on. Abby had lost control, he wasn't going to do the same thing and let liquor take over his life.

He didn't drink to get drunk. He didn't get hangovers, and he didn't drink at work. Not unless Jordan showed up in his office with that lost, hurt look that she had, and he knew that she'd been forced to work a case with Woody that got to her, and all she wanted to do was ease the pain somewhat. Then the two of them would pour a glass each and commiserate together.

He didn't mind that in the least, it helped him take the pain away. But at work, rather than drink, he threw himself into the cases, into the paperwork. Every T was crossed and every I was dotted. What was it Slokum had said about the morgue being so inefficient? Well, it certainly wasn't that way any longer, the efficiency ratings were right back to where they had been when the despicable man was in charge.

Thanks entirely to him. Thanks entirely to his going over everything with a fine tooth comb, leaving no stone unturned, doing whatever it took to make sure that things were right. But he made sure not to be the anal retentive freak that Slokum was, he made sure that everyone else there was happy, taking up all the slack himself. Throwing himself into work gave him something else to focus on, something that wasn't the pain.

But at home he didn't have that. He had the paperwork that he brought home, he did that, threw himself into that, but there was a limit to how much he could bring home. And paperwork didn't help with the nightmares. But he wasn't going to drink at work, just at home. He wasn't using it as a crutch, he wasn't an alcoholic.

The sound of the card being swiped through the carbon snapped him back to reality. He grabbed the pen off the counter and signed the slip, taking the receipt, frowning as he stuck it in his wallet, seeing the others. But it wasn't that bad. He grabbed the paper bag and headed back around the corner up to his apartment.


	13. Chapter 12

A/N 12 steps?Who said 12 steps? Who can see Garret going through 12 steps...certainly not this author. But thanks anyway for the review, if it wasn't Garret we'd have 12 steps, but, well, it's Garret...

* * *

_I've come to my senses,  
That I've become senseless,  
I could give you lessons on how to ruin your friendships,  
Every last conviction, I smoked them all away,  
I drank my frustrations down the drain, out of the way,  
So I sit and wait and wonder,  
"Does anyone else feel like me?"  
Someone so tired of their routines and disappearing self-esteems  
I'll sing along,  
Yeah with every emergency,  
Just sing along,  
I'm the king of catastrophes,  
I'm so far gone,  
That deep down inside I think it's fine by me,  
I'm my own worst enemy  
I could be an expert on co-dependency,  
I could write the best book on underage tragedy,  
I've been spending my time at the local liquor store,_

Less Than Jake-The Science of Selling Yourself Short

* * *

The knock on the door made him jump. He got up and opened the door a crack to find Jordan standing there, looking somewhat impatient. "Hey." He said, opening the door all the way, stepping aside to let her in.

"Hey." She replied, walking past him, looking around.

"What's up?" He asked. She never just came over. She only came over when something was wrong. She never just came over to come over, she came when she wanted a shoulder to cry on, to not be alone, or when she wanted something out of him.

"I was wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat and a few drinks. But uh-" She gestured to the bottle and the glass that had been poured sitting on his cocktail table.

"Just poured it, was settling back to unwind when you knocked." It wasn't a total lie. He had just poured that drink, he didn't need to mention it was his second though. "Where do you want to go?" He didn't particularly want to be left alone. The more he was alone, the more he thought about her, thought about the pain.

"Replay?" She suggested with a shrug and he nodded, grabbing his car keys off the table by the door. The small sports bar was a short drive away, they could've walked, but why bother to spend more time in the cold Boston air than was necessary? "And it's a game night." she pointed out at the huge crowd stuffed into the small space.

He had just flicked on the TV when she had knocked, with all intentions of watching the game, seeing the Pats beat the crap out of the Eagles. But so much the better to do it company. They sat down at the bar and ordered a plate of wings each along with their drinks.

"So." She began after their food had come out.

"So." He repeated, plucking some of the meat off the bone.

"You're always here to listen to my problems, but you haven't said a damn thing about your own. How're you doing?" She asked and he shrugged, taking a sip of his scotch.

"I'm going. Getting on." He didn't want to talk about it. There was a reason he didn't talk about it much. It hurt too much. It was hard to think about it without wanting to completely break down, it was even harder to talk about it. Whenever he thought of her, he wanted to down the nearest bottle of something alcoholic, damning the consequences.

"Are you being serious or are you just saying that for my sake?" He shook his head at her accusation.

"I'm serious." He lied. "It's been a month, I'm getting over it, day by day." She nodded, sliding up from her seat.

"I'll be right back." She said, heading in the direction of the restroom. He looked at the glass of scotch in front of him and downed it, before ordering another, downing that, and a third, finally resting on the third one, sipping it as she returned. "So you wanna get out of here?" She asked, finishing off the last two wings on her plate. He nodded.

"Why not make a night of it?" He suggested with another sip of his scotch. It felt so good. He didn't know why he had gulped down the other two so quickly, but they had felt just as good.

"Because both of us have to get up for work tomorrow." She pointed out and he shrugged.

"You, Miss Neversleep actually wanting to go home early?" He mocked and she gave him a playful smack.

"Seriously. I haven't slept much all week." He nodded, and downed the rest of his glass in one gulp. He met her curious gaze.

"What?" He asked her, wondering why her eyebrow was quirked like that.

"You never could down an entire glass of scotch in one go before." He shrugged it off.

"I always could, just never usually did." He paid the bill, and frowned when he realized that he needed to empty out his wallet, it was becoming overstuffed with various receipts. She studied him for another long minute as they walked out to the car.

"Hey, your house is closer, can I just drop you and you take my car in tomorrow, save the trouble of having to park in that god awful garage, get out of your car, get in mine and go home?" He shrugged and tossed her the keys, the voice in the back of his head telling him that she was doing this so that he wouldn't drive. But he didn't care.


	14. Chapter 13

A/N More with stiles. Why? Cause I love Howard. Wallace Shawn is a funny little man. Inconcievable! Thank you to all who've reviewed so far-the angst is slowly and surely getting, well, angstier. But I'm telling y'all right now because there's a big cliffie coming up-get to work reviewing, I don't post the next chapter until I get a review or two (want to make sure you all read one chapter before giving you even more to read!) so those of you that just lurk and read it, maybe try reviewing? I do take anonymus reviews...

* * *

_Psychoanalysis is that mental illness for which it regards itself as therapy.__-Karl Kraus_

* * *

"Garret. Do you know why I'm here?" He shrugged.

"I'm assuming that it has something to do with what happened two months ago." He said and Stiles nodded.

"And what was it that happened again, refresh my memory?" He glared at the little psychiatrist.

"You know what happened." He said through gritted teeth.

"I do? Well tell me anyway." He rolled his eyes.

"You're testing me aren't you, seeing if I can talk about it. I'm not an idiot Stiles, fine, two months ago Abby died, you happy. And I'm getting over it, coping. That what you wanted to hear? That I don't need you to come in here and check on me?" The little man laughed at his rant.

"You may not think you need me but the rest of your staff does." He knew the glint of anger had shown in his eyes from the other man's reaction. There was a smirk on Stiles' face that he resented. He was the mouse that had pushed the button and that made him even more upset with himself.

"I've been here every day and working, it's not affecting my work performance." He said simply.

"Maybe not affecting your performance, but certainly the morale. You're not happy."

"My daughter just died, why would I be happy?" He snapped and Stiles shrugged.

"I don't mean giddy, jovial, just got laid happy. Though that's not happening either, is it? When was the last time you got some?" That was a question he wanted to answer even less.

"A few months." He confessed. Charlie Davis. That was the last time he got laid.

"While I'm sure your right hand is absolutely wonderful, maybe you should throw yourself headlong back into the dating scene. Stop you from thinking about her quite as much, feeling quite as sorry for yourself." He shrugged. He'd given up on dating. He was a fifty year old bald man man without millions, what woman would be attracted to him?

He knew he had the sex appeal to at least pick up a one night stand, but was that what he wanted? He didn't want a girlfriend, he didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night a fifty year old man having to explain away nightmares to a woman. "What did you do Garret, what did you do on the day she died?" He looked up at Stiles.

"Sit here kind of numb and drank until I passed out." Stiles nodded.

"And what did you do two days ago, on the two month anniversary?" He shrugged.

"Had a bit of scotch after work." He confessed. So it had been just a bit more than a bit. He had downed the better part of a bottle all to himself. He had passed out for the first time since she had died, he had broken his vow to himself not to have any more than three glasses when alone. He had downed at least six glasses, probably more, not able to stop once he started. He couldn't remember anything past the sixth.

Only thing he knew was that he woke up the next morning passed out on his couch, with no recollection of what had happened after the sixth glass. "So you wouldn't say that you're depressed? No suicidal thoughts? No survivors guilt?" He met Stile's glare, knowing that looking down would tip off Stiles that the other man had gotten just a bit too close to comfort.

Wasn't survivors guilt normal though? Wasn't it normal to feel survivors guilt, feel bad that he was the one alive and she was the one that was dead? "No, figure I might as well suffer a few more years on the planet." He had thought about suicide, but only when he was really drunk. And every time he thought about it, he decided that he could never do it. Every time he thought about it, he knew he was far too arrogant to take the coward's way out.

More than once the thought that he was drinking himself to death crossed his mind, but he didn't care about that. He wondered if it would really be a bad thing. But he was sober now, those thoughts were far from his mind. He knew he wasn't going to actually stoop that low, he wasn't a coward, he didn't run from the pain. "Alright, but do something Garret-how much have you been drinking? How often?"

"Every now and then." He said and Stiles stared him down.

"And how's your social life, you go out with your friends?" He nodded.

"I go out with Jordan as much as ever, along with Nigel and Bug and Lilly." Stiles nodded.

"Do you drink a lot when you're with them?" He could see where this conversation was going.

"I'm not turning into an alcoholic Howard, I'm well aware of how much I'm drinking, and it's not that much. Or that often." He only drank when he needed it to cope, when he needed something to make him feel better. Stiles cocked his head to the side and considered him.

"You know, I could prescribe you something, but you wouldn't take it. I could stick you on Paxil, or Zoloft or something, but I know you far too well, you probably wouldn't even get it filled." The other man was right, he did know him too well. Especially not with what happened to Abby, antidepressants had caused her to die, if in a roundabout way. "So instead, I'm going to tell you this. Sleep more, and drink less. You look like shit Garret, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. And try to get laid. But there's nothing I can do for you if you're not going to talk. I can give you all the advice in the world, but I can't make you follow it, just listen, will you?" Stiles stood up and shook his hand.

He didn't want to talk about it, especially not to Stiles. The psychiatrist walked out, leaving him alone. He studied his reflection in the brass of the Victrola. Did he really look that bad? A little haggard, there were a few bags under his eyes, but he didn't look that bad, he looked pretty good all things considered.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Yeah Garret, keep telling yourself something and it'll be true. Right...if you spotted the signs with Abby, you probably can spot the signs of well, the spiral in him too...

* * *

_Hold me in your thoughts  
Take me to your dream  
Touch me as I fall into view  
And when the winter comes  
Keep the fires lit  
And I will be right next to you_

Warren Zevon-Keep Me In Your Heart

* * *

He stared at the bottle, not drinking any, leaving the liquid safely ensconced in the glass. He didn't want to pour any. He had told Stiles he would cut back, that he wouldn't drink as much. And he wasn't going to. He was stronger than that, he had a backbone, he didn't need the booze. He didn't. He kept telling himself that, that he didn't need to drink, it may have become a habit, but he didn't need it.

He could get by without it. He didn't need it. He could put up with the nightmares. He put the bottle away, into the cabinet above the sink. He could to this. It was a night. Eight hours, he wasn't an alcoholic, eight hours was nothing, he wasn't hooked on the stuff, he didn't need it.

It just made the night easier. He had brought home a huge stack of paperwork simply for this reason. He leaned back against the couch and got to work on it, going through everything, being anal, making sure every single t was crossed and i was dotted. Nothing would be amiss.

Renee had commented on it, the way that he had kicked the morgue back into the same shape it had been in with Slokum only without the staff complaining. That's because the rest of the staff was doing next to nothing. It was all on him, he was the one that was making sure that everything was getting done, and if it wasn't, doing it himself. Immersing himself in work so that he wouldn't drink on the job.

The same thing should work here, right? Immersing himself at work as to not drink here. He had gotten halfway through the stack when he noticed the faint tremor in his hand. He was tired, stressed. Sleep would fix it. He retreated back to the bedroom and laid between the sheets.

But sleep wouldn't come to him. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see her, she would taunt him. Before he even really fell asleep. And he would wake back up and stare at the ceiling for a long few minutes before trying it again. Every time he tried to, she would show up and mock him, keeping him away from sleep.

And the trembling had moved up his arm. Had it been that long since he had a good night's sleep? He never got the shakes except for when he went for days at a time on mere hours of sleep. He had slept though, just in that alcohol induced slumber, not in a real, refreshing sleep.

He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, trying to find a position that would block her out of his mind. But no matter what he did, she kept coming back, kept teasing him, preventing him from sleeping. He needed something, just a sip, a glass, not even, just to erase her from his mind.

He wasn't drinking to get drunk. Just to get rid of her from his mind. It wasn't the sign of an alcoholic, he knew full well how much he was drinking, he was limiting himself, he was cutting back. Usually by this point he was pouring his third or fourth glass. It took him that much to get tipsy.

But no, this was one glass, one small glass. He poured a slight measure into the bottom of a tumbler and sipped it. See, He could sip it. He didn't need to gulp it down, he could still just sit there, sip it, enjoy the long slow burn down. It took him a good twenty minutes to finish the glass and he sat back down on his bed, laying there.

She was still there, still taunting him, but she was somewhat weaker, he was able to tell her off, tell her that he did love her, that she should at least get him some sleep to deal with her better in the morning. And she agreed, leaving him alone, at least somewhat, to sleep, for once.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N-This is where the story takes a definitely darker turn. Much darker. So if you like that sort of thing keep on reading...just don't say I didn't warn you. It just goes downhill from here... And I'm being nice and giving you this before I go and do 21 hours straight of marching band. Red Scare is awesome, but this is well, more than I'm used to...

* * *

_I open my eyes  
I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light  
I can't remember how  
I can't remember why  
I'm lying here tonight  
And I can't stand the pain  
And I can't make it go away  
No I can't stand the pain  
How could this happen to me  
I've made my mistakes  
Got nowhere to run  
The night goes on  
As I'm fading away  
I'm sick of this life  
I just want to scream  
How could this happen to me_

_Simple Plan-Untitled_

* * *

He stared at the bottom his glass, into the amber liquid. If he ever needed a drink it was now. And boy did he need it. He downed it easily with a gulp and refilled it. He had just almost been shot. He rubbed the top of his ear. Not almost. Technically the bullet had connected, so what if the only thing it took with it was maybe a centimeter of his ear? If it had been just a fraction to the side it would have been straight through his skull. 

He would have been dead. Gone. Finished. He downed the glass again with practiced ease, it didn't hurt so much going down anymore, when he first tried to down a glass at once it had stung like hell, but now it was the same long slow burn that he had with just a sip. But he had almost never felt that again. Almost never felt anything again.

Almost died. Almost found himself not feeling. Would that be a bad thing though, to die like that? It was instantaneous, the bullet would have gone straight through, he wouldn't have the chance to process it before his body just shut down around him. And it wouldn't be a bad thing. At least his death would be quick and painless.

And it would get rid of all the pain around him, the pain inside of him. He downed another glass of scotch, pouring his fourth. He wanted to get rid of the pain, get rid of the hurt, get rid of everything around him, the nightmares, the way that she haunted him, the looks that the rest of the staff, his friends gave him every day, every day when he went in looking worse and worse.

Lily had acted concerned. He said he just wasn't sleeping well. That was the truth. She had tried to get him to talk to her, to Stiles, but there wasn't anything either of them could do to help. The only thing he could do was do something to numb the pain. There was no way to fix it. The symptoms could be treated but never cured.

And he wanted them to be cured, he wanted to be free from all of this. He wanted to get rid of it all. He could do it, he had seen more clever ways to die in his tenure at the morgue than any other person on the planet, probably. Many of them looked like they wouldn't hurt a bit.

But he would never do it himself. He couldn't. As much as he wanted to go find a nice little empty corner of the world pull out a gun and pull the trigger, he couldn't. He had one too, he could go into the closet right now and pull it off the top shelf. Two minutes to load it and one quick pull of the trigger and he'd be gone. Free from the pain.

Would anyone even notice him if he did it? How quickly would they forget him? He had no family left, Maggie was out of the picture, and well, Abby had been what started this off. The thought had crossed his mind before in other moments of wallowing in self pity, but he had always kept on going for Abby. But now he didn't even have that.

The only people that would even notice would be his friends. They would be the only ones at the funeral. And even they would forget about him soon enough. Give them a month or two and they would have moved on with their lives, he would just be a picture on a wall, someone to go "Oh, he was the boss. We thought he was a good guy, but he just snapped, went off and killed himself." He'd make the papers, but only inasmuch as he was a higher up, an appointed official, somewhere near the top of the bureaucratic foodchain.

That was something that he didn't want though. He didn't want to have to make the papers, he didn't even want an obituary printed. He just wanted to be done with life, and let everyone else move on. He didn't want to drag anyone else down with him, he didn't want to be a news figure, this wasn't about the attention. He wasn't some angsty teenager who wanted to kill themselves to gain recognition. No, he just wanted to be free.

He didn't want the recognition. He wanted to do it with no one noticing. He could go run off and do it in a foreign country. He'd just be the random tourist that died. Go someplace like Mexico where they wouldn't know and wouldn't care that he was gone. They'd stick him in the earth somewhere and leave him, the unlucky tourist.

And Jordan and Bug and Nigel and Lilly would all forget about him, move on with their lives, thinking he just ran off. But he couldn't do that to them, as much as he wanted to, they meant too much to him. They would be hurt. And he didn't want to hurt them, just be free of his own pain. He couldn't let his own weakness hurt them. He downed another glass, numbing the pain all the more.

It didn't hurt that badly now, not since he had been drinking. The alcohol numbed the pain. It was something to relieve the symptoms. He could never cure it, the only cure would to be to leave all this behind him. Do something quick and painless and be gone from it forever.

He didn't even know what he would do. He had a gun, he could just shoot himself. Rope wasn't that hard to come by, he could hang himself, but there was always the risk that that would fail and he would be left there hanging for minutes, unable to breathe, it wouldn't be painless or quick. Poison was an option, he had access to plenty of things that would kill him quick with no feeling. He could just park his car in a nice little enclosed room and leave it running, kick back with some jazz and just drift off, it wouldn't be quick, but it would be painless. He'd be unconscious before he noticed anything was wrong.

He could always just tamper with his heater if that's what he wanted. By the time anyone else in the building noticed, he'd be dead and they could fix it. And it would be less painful to the rest of his friends, they could write it off as an accident. A bullet in his head and the gun in his hands was just a little to obvious.

But that's what he wanted, he wanted out from all of this. He could go crash his car over the guardrail. But would he wait til he was sober? Crash it into the river, drown, be done with it all. It'd look like an accident. It was a dark and stormy night, he was tipsy, it would be an entirely believable story.

He had just started to walk to the door when he turned and sat back down. But it would still hurt his friends. That was the worst part of it all. He cared too much, that was his fault. No matter how hard he tried to be the cynical, cold, bastard he failed, he could appear to be it, but he never was it, he had too much of a heart.

And that was what was driving him to this point. He had loved Abby too much, he couldn't let her go. He downed another drink, he was starting to feel lightheaded but he didn't care. He was drinking to get drunk tonight, damn the repercussions. He didn't care. He had an excuse, his life had nearly ended.

And he was thinking about how good it would have been if it had. It would have been good. It would hurt the staff the least, they could glorify him, turn him into a martyr, respect him rather than grieve him. And that was what he wanted. He didn't want to be mourned, he didn't even want to be remembered, but he'd rather be remembered for being one of the ones that died on the job than be remembered for the one that had hurt them all when he took the cowards way out.

He downed another glass of scotch, surprised that he wasn't feeling it that much. Usually he was good and drunk at this point, but he'd had six and he was barely feeling them. And he wanted to go all the way to oblivion, pass out, not have to even think about the possibility of nightmares. A nightmare, seeing her in his dreams would be what it took to send him off the edge, no matter what the rest of the world would think of him for doing it.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N Garret, Garret, Garret, when are you going to learn that you shouldn't pick fights with everyone?

* * *

_Sometimes there's nothing to feel  
Sometimes there's nothing to hold  
Sometimes there's no time to run away  
Sometimes you just feel so old  
The times it hurts when you cry  
The times it hurts just to breathe...  
...Fight fight fight, Just push it away  
Fight fight fight, Just push it until it breaks  
Fight fight fight, don't cry at the pain  
Fight fight fight, or watch yourself burn again_

The Cure-Fight

* * *

"I think you've spent far too much time with me." She said with a grin, clinking glasses as she sprawled out on the couch in his office. He grinned back and shrugged.

"Really?" He asked, taking a sip.

"Really. You keep talking all the risks." He chuckled and gave her a light pat to get her to slide over and give him some room to sit.

"You still take them too." She shrugged.

"It's just you're the one going off chasing the bad guys, that was my job, you always used to tell me off for doing that."

"Guess I can't complain when you do it anymore." He kicked his feet up on the table in front of him, getting comfortable.

"Yeah. Hello pot? This is kettle..." He grinned.

"Yeah." He agreed as she leaned against him, curling against his side. He pulled her close, enjoying the feel of a warm body against him. It'd been far too long since he had felt human contact. Maybe Howard was right, he should find a girlfriend.

But he didn't want to have to go through the whole dating thing. Dating meant getting to know a total stranger. What he wanted was hot wild sex without any emotional involvement. He hated the whole "getting to know you part" where he had to watch everything he said and did.

He didn't want to have to worry about waking up from a nightmare and having to explain to someone what had happened. He hated having to sidestep around everything that was him until he was sure that they liked him back, be willing to put up with him. That there were grounds for things becoming more than a quick and passionate relationship.

If he wanted quick and passionate he'd go the one-night-stand route. Which was something that was definitely sounding more and more appealing. Find some nice beautiful woman, drag her home for the night, get his rocks off, forget about it afterwards, something nice for the night, that's all it would be.

"You haven't been around much." She snapped him back to reality. "You're either working late or well, working. You complain about me not sleeping?" He grinned sheepishly.

"I sleep." He said, taking a large gulp to drain the glass before pouring another one.

"Really?" She questioned and he nodded. He did sleep. Not very well, but he did. They were interrupted from their little heart-to-heart by the phone ringing loudly. He got up grudgingly and answered it, nodding and jotting down what he was being told.

"I've got a pickup." He said, hanging up the phone and grabbing the address, slipping on his coat to give him something of a layer for the October weather. It hadn't gotten too bad yet, but it was too cold to go out with just his shirt and sport coat.

"You want me to go with you?" She asked and he shook his head. He downed the rest of his glass and headed out the door, down to the van.

As he drove through the city, the hair on his neck was standing on end. He never liked this part of the city. It was the ghetto, in the truest sense of the word. He saw people that no person should ever see, ghostly thin, scary. It sent a shudder down his spine to realize that his daughter had only been a half-step away from this.

He pulled up in front of a run down housing project and walked inside, looking for the apartment he wanted. He knocked twice on the door, finding it to swing inwards when he did so. The deceased was lying down in her bed, a little old lady who had passed calmly in her sleep. She'd look like she was still asleep if it wasn't for the pale ashy color that was across her skin.

He rolled her onto the gurney and had just started heading out when a large man stepped out and looked at the body on the gurney. "Hey, what are you doing?" The man asked.

"I'm taking her back to the morgue to determine cause of death and wait for her next of kin." He said matter-of-factly.

"She ain't got no kin, we were going to bury her, she's been like a mother to us all." There was something in him that made him want to pick a fight. It wasn't a bright move, but between the two glasses of scotch that he had and the nagging voice in the back of his head, he wanted to punch something, and this man looked like a rather nice sized target.

"Well, if she has no kin, she'll be buried in a potters field."

"An unmarked grave. No way man." The other man had to be twice his size, at least six feet tall, and built like he could play for the Patriots. But something told him that he could take this guy.

"Yes way man." He said, keeping on going.

"C'mon, we can take her, save you the trouble. You can't take her."

"Make me." He said. He had been expecting the blow, but it still caught him slightly off guard. He swung back catching the other man in the jaw. The next blow was to his gut and he doubled over, the wind knocked out of him. One more blow came to his head, and he caught a glint of metal.

He barely felt it as the knife went in, the last thing he could remember was a hard blow to his skull as he collapsed against the wall.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N You get bonus points for figuring out who the doc in this one is. And Jules-Macy HAS done pickups alone (last week's episode, Plutonium, and a few others). Although not commonly. Although yeah, he usually wouldn't pick fights...

* * *

_Can you take me to the H  
Take me to the O  
Take me to the S  
Take me to the P  
Want you to take me to the I-T-A-L  
Want you to take me to the hospital  
Because it's the color of a B  
The color of an L  
To the color of an O  
Color of an O  
The color of a Deep  
Crimson red  
From an itty bitty accident_

_The Faint-Take Me To the Hospital _

* * *

He woke up to white ceiling tiles and sterile walls. He gave a groan of pain and shifted, trying to stop the throbbing in his back. "You're awake." He turned to see Jordan sitting there leaning over him. 

"Yeah. Wish I was still asleep." He said, trying to shift again. She hit the button to page the doctor and a moment later an older man with a scruffy grey beard limped in on his cane.

"Ah, the wonderful Dr. Macy. How are you feeling?" The man's voice was dry and cutting.

"Like I've been stabbed." he replied and the doctor grinned.

"That's exactly how you're supposed to be feeling, as you were. Sadly the knife missed all your major organs and you lost the chance to be practice for any new interns at your own morgue." he had to like this guy, there was something about the doctor that he liked, the way that he was completely tactless.

The doctor popped two pills and held up the bottle. "Right, this is what I'm prescribing you, but hands off my bottle. But, before I do, there is something you must see Doc." The doctor grabbed a piece of film from the folder in his hand and hobbled over to the light box on the wall. "Now, as a doctor, you should be able to tell me what is wrong with this picture. I realize you may not be used to seeing what an live person looks like on the inside, but I'm pretty sure that you can figure out where everything is."

He stared at the picture that was displayed. It was an MRI, that much was obvious. He tried to spot the abnormality. There was definitely something out of place and he tried to figure out. "Down and to the right." The doctor said and he looked there. That's what it was. He didn't want to admit it though.

"This is what a healthy liver is supposed to look like." Another piece of film was slapped up on there. "Now I'm not going to say anything against it, just compare the two. And I'm going to do the same thing to you that I do to every other patient. Write you a script and tell you to get ready to die, because we all die. Just if you're in a hospital it tends to be sooner rather than later. If you decide to keep doing whatever it is you're doing to your liver while taking Percocets, you'll definitely wind up seeing what it feels like to be cut open sooner rather than later."

The doctor walked out, jotting him a script, leaving him alone with her. He didn't want to look at the picture that had been left on the board. He didn't want to see the damage that he knew was there. "Jesus Garret." She said after a long minute. "I thought you cut back." She stared at the picture rather than at him.

"I did, and that's reversible." he pointed out. It was, it was still early enough that it could be fixed. And he was going to. He couldn't keep doing this, he could see the look on her face. He had already betrayed her once, he wasn't going to hurt her again. "And I'll stop, entirely." He said and she looked at him long and hard.

"You mean it?" She asked and he nodded.

"No more, not unless I'm out with you or with the guys, nothing." He said, holding her gaze. He meant it, he couldn't hurt her, he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He couldn't go on doing this to himself anymore. He needed to stop. He was going to stop.

She smiled down at him, as if she believed in him. He could do this, he was doing this for them, not for himself. He wasn't going to be weak. He was too proud to be weak. He smiled back up at her, he was going to do this. He really didn't care about the picture up on the board, it was just enlarged, it wasn't the beginnings of cirrhosis, not yet, he didn't have to worry. He was just doing this for her. Because she wanted him to.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N I just love commercial breaks,don't you? here's another chappy, which I'm posting sooner than usual (I usually wait for two reviews to post a chap, but what the hell, I can make an exception can't I?) And no one's figured out who the doc is yet? Butterbuns, I know you know who it is, so if you're reading, you have a chance at winning the prize. What's the prize? I don't know! Alright, I'm getting random, enough. Anyone else think that the umbrella was really funny?

* * *

_I don't care what you do  
I'm getting out, no nothing ever shames me  
Don't want a thing from you  
I'm getting out, I don't care if you're angry  
I'm getting out, no nothing ever shames me  
I should have thought things through  
I'm holding out, not getting an answer  
I wanna do right by you  
I'm finding out, cheating gets it faster_

Jimmy Eat World-Get It Faster

* * *

He sat there. The bottle was tantalizingly close. He would just go over and pick it up, pour a glass. Just one. One would be all he needed. Just to take the edge off. He had sworn to her that he'd stop though, that he was killing himself with the booze, but he wanted something, anything to take the edge off the pain.

He had used up the percocets, sooner than he was supposed to, taking them every four hours on the dot, they helped to numb the emotional pain as much as the physical. The physical had only hurt for a day or so, unless he accidentally hit it, but so long as he was careful, he didn't notice the fact that he had been stabbed.

But he still took the percs every four hours when he wasn't working, substituting them for the booze. And they had worked so well too. But now he didn't even have them to take the edge away, get rid of the hallucinations and nightmares. Now all he had was his own mind which was turning against him.

He wanted nothing more than to get rid of the taunting voice in his head, the face that would appear every time he closed his eyes, mocking him, asking him how could he be so blind as to not notice, how he couldn't love her. He felt horrible about it-he couldn't believe he had let that happen to his little girl.

He had killed her, by proxy. By not noticing, not doing anything, she had died, he had killed her. He had killed his own child, he had seen her there, lying on the cold metal gurney waiting to be cut open like any random person. He had allowed that to happen to her, it was all his fault.

He grabbed the bottle and poured a glass. Just one. One wasn't going to hurt him, one and he would be alright. Each slow sip traced the long slow burn down his throat, each sip making him feel better and better. Each sip numbing the pain more and more and more. Making it easier to cope.

He poured another. What he had promised himself be damned, it felt too good to stop, he wanted more. He needed more. He sighed at the realization. He needed it. But it was so good. He didn't need it all the time. Just at night. He wasn't one of those guys that was always drunk. Just from time to time. When the pain got too bad. That's when he drank.

He drank to keep away the nightmares. Every single time all he wanted to do was break down and he couldn't. She would appear from time to time saying that. Asking him why he couldn't cry for her. He wanted to, he kept trying to, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried the tears wouldn't come.

He gave up with the sips, and turned them into full out gulps. He needed it, he needed to feel better, to get rid of the nightmares. Two glasses. Three glasses, four glasses. Enough for the buzz, enough for beyond the buzz, enough to make him numb. That's what he needed more than anything. The numb. If there was a way to get it without the booze he'd do it, but he had yet to find one that wouldn't just replace the booze with another substance.

He needed the numb, he needed to forget about life, work, but most of all, her. But he had to drink more and more to erase her, with every drink she grew stronger, more noticeable. And it took more to get her to disappear, fade to the back of his mind. It was to the point where he couldn't even block her out. Just quiet her to a bearable level.

He hadn't even noticed when he finished off the bottle, he was well into his eighth glass, and just barely drunk. Drunk enough for him to block out the pain, but he wasn't stagger around and fall down drunk, he was still up, still functioning. He always stayed functioning, with the rare occasion where he drank until he passed out. There was no in between where he was too drunk to work, but still conscious.

He kicked back in his recliner, he didn't care anymore. He didn't want to hurt Jordan, but he couldn't stand the pain anymore, he needed something for a release. He needed it to get rid of the pain, he needed it to get rid of the memory of her.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N-Right, so I'm NOT going to resolve this for at least 48 hours unless I get reviews...lots of reviews. Which means you either convince me to post more this second, or well, wait for me to get bored and post the next chapter. and it's usually not that hard to click on the "submit review" button and tell me what you think...more reviews equals what happens to Garret sooner. I do have three endings for this one written, I know what I'm going to pick, but do you?

* * *

_This is a lesson in procastination  
I kill myself because I'm so frustrated  
And every single second that I put it off  
Means another lonely night that I race the clock  
Let's say we go and crash your car?...  
...It's failure by design_

_Brand New-Failure By Design_

* * *

The snow was coming down, hard. It was hard to notice though, it wasn't like rain where each individual drop plodded down hard onto the roof of his car. This was softer, more subtle. It was pristine white out, it had just started snowing, the snow hadn't had the chance to get dirty and messy, instead it was picture perfect, a winter wonderland. 

He was driving through it, enjoying the safety his large SUV offered, while he missed driving his old Aston Martin, the small sports car just couldn't take the winter weather, being constantly afraid of spinning out on any and all patches of ice. This car was much more stable.

He looked at the road as his mind drifted. He tried to remember what had happened last night. The last thing he remembered was downing his first glass, and knowing that one had led to two, he couldn't remember how many he had had. Just that it was enough for him not to remember.

That was becoming more and more common. He wasn't just drinking anymore to stop the pain, stop the nightmares, but to wash away the bad feeling that he had whenever he was sober. He kept feeling as if something was very very wrong. He could forget about it at work, throwing himself into the cases, but once he got home, the only thing he could think about was the little nagging voice in his head that kept telling him that he was on the edge.

He knew he was drinking too much, that those things were just excuses, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't live with what happened without a drink. It was a question of what was worse-the problem or the treatment. And in this case, the problem was much much worse than the treatment. But yet, there was the voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that he was killing himself.

But he was functioning. That was the only thing he cared about, keeping going at work. He couldn't bear to lose his job again. He needed to work, it kept his mind off of his problems for at least eight hours a day. It was to the point though, where by the end of that eight hours he was shaking, the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. And the only way he could sleep was with the scotch.

He was drinking more than he ever had though, he had crossed the line he never wanted to cross. But he kept on going, he was doing alright. He hadn't noticed any serious health problems. He was tired, but that was from the fact that even the booze wasn't helping the nightmares any more. One glass was all that it used to take to erase them. Now it took at least six.

He was gone and he knew it, but it was the only thing allowing him to function. He drove on, thinking about his last drink. Nearly fourteen hours ago. He had to grip the wheel tightly to stop the shaking in his hands from affecting his driving. He could feel the craving. He was licked, but he didn't care, he was beyond caring at this point.

He needed something. It was six months. Six long months since she had died. And it was just another reminder of how much his life had changed, how hard it was to go on every day, how he had spiraled out of control since then. It was why he had spent so long at work, he wanted to try and forget about her for as long as possible.

But he couldn't. He saw her face, taunting him whenever he closed his eyes. Even to blink, he saw her face there, laughing at him, mocking him. "Daddy." He looked for the source of the voice. It was her. But it wasn't, she sounded so small, so tiny, so afraid.

"Daddy, it's so dark down here all alone in the ground." Where was she? That was her voice. She was afraid. She had been afraid of the dark, and now she was trapped in a coffin six feet underground, in pitch black. "Daddy, why?"

"Why what?" He asked the air as he tried to find the source of the voice.

"Why did you let me die? You should have saved me, you could have saved me and you didn't. You didn't see, you were too blind to notice. You let me die. Daddy, I was so scared I went running back to you, I didn't know how to stop it, I wanted to but I couldn't, I wanted you to save me." He couldn't take it anymore, he broke down.

"I wanted to, if I had known-if I had noticed-I should have notice, I shouldn't have been such a horrible parent-" He was sobbing, he had given up paying attention to the road. There was no one else out there anyway, no one else to run into.

He didn't want to hurt anyone else. He didn't want to see anyone else hurt because he couldn't control himself. He wasn't going to crash into someone else. "Daddy, I'm so lonely here, there's no one else. I'm left here all alone because you never noticed." He had missed the turnoff for his house, instead he was creeping up on the Charles.

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand the pain anymore, he wanted to be free from her, to be with her, to comfort her, to take her in his arms and tell her that he did love her, that he never meant to be such a horrible parent, but he couldn't. He blinked as he saw her, standing there in the middle of the road. "Daddy, you didn't love me enough to save me."

He couldn't do this, couldn't spend any more time with seeing her, with the nightmares that had crossed into his conscious. The scotch wasn't helping anymore, he had nothing left, nothing to dull the pain. He looked at the road. The river was on his right, it wouldn't be that hard to just swerve off.

Everyone else would think it was an accident, no one would be any the wiser, no one would know what happened. He would be free from the pain, the hurt, the nightmares, the waking up each morning and wanting only to drink, it would get rid of all the problems in his life.

And it wouldn't hurt anyone else. Everyone else would think he ha died in an accident, he was the only person who would know the truth. He would be the only one who knew why he did it, everyone else would think he had just slid on ice, and accidentally went through the guardrail. An unfortunate causality of the bad winter weather.

He pushed down hard on the accelerator, watching as the red marker reached 100 before turning the wheel slightly first in one direction then the other, give them something believable, a fishtail, before aiming the car for the guardrail and enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as it flew through the air.

The water was cold as it started seeping in, but the only thing he could do was grin. He was free, he didn't have to worry about the pain anymore, it was all going to go away. He felt his body going numb and his grin spread. He couldn't hear her anymore, couldn't see her anymore, he was free from her, free from the pain, free from the hurt, free from having to drink himself into oblivion just to get rid of the thought of her.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N Right, there's much much more, because well, I liked writing this one, a lot. the ends not for a while, and there is more than one ending-largely because my beta kept threatening to kill me every time I tried to kill Garret. We reached a consensus. Eventually.

* * *

_It's a neverending world out there  
And you made it this far  
But believe me  
There's things about me you don't know  
And where do I turn to  
Where do I run  
Who do I seek  
Cause baby it's a cry for help  
_

_Goo Goo Dolls-Cry for Help_

* * *

There was a light, a bright white light. Guess it was true what they said about the white light. But suddenly, the light was gone and he thought he recognized the surroundings. It looked really familiar. There was a cacophony of voices around him and it slowly dawned on him where he was. The sterile colored walls, the people milling around him. He wasn't dead.

"Dr. Macy. Macy, you're awake, we know you're awake, you can stop pretending you're unconscious now." He squinted at the bright fluorescent light, and found himself staring at the same doctor who had treated him the last time. "Now, I see you took my advice-somewhat." The doctor said, as the rest of the crowd around him shuffled out. "You did stop drinking, just you drank too much before hand. Haven't seen DT's in a long time till now."

The doctor's intense blue eyes were boring into him. "But you're safe now. It surprised me to find out that you weren't drunk when you crashed your car. But anyway, you're fine, be glad-aside from a little bit of frostbite you're perfectly healthy. Well, you've got the DT symptoms too, but those have already started to fade, you're over the worst. Although if you start shaking like you're zapped, that's what it is. And if you start going psycho, I'm sure one of us will notice and hop you up on some nice little drugs until that's done. But get nice and cozy you're hear for at least another three days."

The doctor started to limp out after giving a quick glance to make sure that everything was as it should be on the monitors, then turned at the door. "Oh, and there's a whole bunch of people here, if you don't want either of the women I'll take them." The doctor called from the doorway and he had to fight back a smile.

There was a pause before the aforementioned group of people walked in. "Oh God, Garret, you're alright." He sat up slightly so that Lily could wrap him in a tight embrace. "When we heard that you were hurt-" She began and he couldn't take it.

"I'm fine." He said, his tone telling them to drop it. He could avoid talking it by claiming that he had come too close to death to want to talk about what happened. They would accept that. He didn't want to have to think about the fact that he had failed at even killing himself.

He could feel Jordan's glare though, she was staring at him hard, and he fought to ignore it. Instead he engaged in light, mindless conversation with the others, proving that he was indeed alright. That he wasn't hurt, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was proving that everything was fine. At least on the outside.

They stayed until they were kicked out by the nurse, saying that visiting hours were over. Jordan was the last one to leave, lingering behind the rest. "You sure you're alright" She asked and he nodded.

"It was an accident Jordan, you've seen the weather out there, I was speeding through a near whiteout." Her eyes met his, and he could see the apprehension in her face, she wasn't believing him, but he didn't care, it could pass as the truth.

"Get out of here soon." She said quietly before walking out, leaving him feeling more alone than he ever had. He had failed at everything. He had failed at being a father, he had failed at keeping his drinking in check, he had even failed at killing himself. He should have just not cared and done something that would have been obvious but would have gotten the job done. He should have just taken a gun to his head and not cared, at least he wouldn't have another thing that he failed at to mock him.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N Jules, Jules, Jules...I warned you it was going to be dark. If you want light and fluffy why do you think I've been writing all those drabbles? It only gets worse from here folks, not better. But don't worry, he doesn't loose Jordan. Right, so if you're sick of the angst and suicidal tendencies, I suggest you stop reading right now. If you're still here, well, you've gotten fair warning so don't complain when Garret doesn't suddenly become Prozac's poster boy-I'm only halfway through the fic and believe me when I say that it has yet to really bottom out...and he's not manic depressive. Just depressive. He hasn't really been manic. Just depressed, more depressed and liquored. And I forget to say, Jinubean gets a cookie for pointing out HOUSE! That's my hometown that that show takes place in. And it's about a cynical doctor. Odds it's NOT on my favs list? 10000000000 to 1

* * *

_You've given it all you can  
And your life is in the garbage can  
And you say you're tired and dry  
Cause your mind won't let you cry  
So you hang up what is left inside  
And you want to kiss it all goodbye  
You're lost in space you're swirling ever higher  
You're lost on your own, you're too far from home  
You're no one's friend, you gave it your best try, yeah  
You're stuck in the drone of being alone  
You turn to light but all you get is darkness  
Your head turns to stone, your numbness has grown  
You're stuck inside your little world of rejects  
The good world unknown, your stuck in the drone_

_Bad Religion-You Give Up_

* * *

He stared up at the TV, half paying attention to the movie that was on, some bad thing about a sleazy journalist tracking down a mass murderer that was based off of a bad Stephen King novel. He remembered reading the story, it was almost as bad as the movie, although he had to admit, the acting was good, whoever they got to pick the sleaze ball did a magnificent job of it.

He wanted a drink-needed one. He needed something. They had given him something to help him sleep the first night, but they refused to give him it for the second, and he hadn't slept at all. He kept seeing her, she kept mocking him, telling him that he couldn't even kill himself, that he was such a failure at life he even failed at death.

He was interrupted by the door opening and Jordan walking in. "Hi." He said as she sat down in the chair next to him. There was something odd about her that he couldn't quite place.

"Hi." She said simply, looking up at what he was watching. "That looks like it's incredibly bad." He smiled.

"Do they ever show anything good on the TV stations that hospitals get?" He countered and she laughed, knowing it was true.

"They're letting you out tomorrow." He nodded. "Want me to pick you up, since, well?" He nodded again.

"Yeah. Guess I have to go find something else drive. I was starting to like that beast too. Although I guess now I don't have to spend an entire paycheck just to fill the tank." She grinned.

"Yeah, lucked out in that regard." They lapsed into silence for a long while, both of them just watching the bad movie. "Garret-" She started and he turned to face her.

"Hmm?" Her eyes met his.

"I was doing the accident reconstruction-" He looked down. This wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want to talk about it. "Garret-you had to be going eighty to get out to where you did-"

"I told you I was speeding." He said and she met his eyes, there was a hint of pain and a hint of fear in them.

"Garret, there wasn't a single skid, not a single brake mark, you didn't even try to stop, you sped up, Garret, you did that on purpose." There were tears falling now, and his stomach sank out from beneath him. "You tried to kill yourself. You drove your car off a bridge in the middle of the night. Why did you do it? Why didn't you tell someone, why didn't you try to get help, something, anything?" Her hand was wrapped in his and he gently rubbed the knuckles. "Why?" She asked again.

He fought for something to say. He couldn't think of a good enough explanation. Because he couldn't shake the guilt, the pain? Because he was sick of seeing Abby every time he closed his eyes? Because he was just sick of life in general? Because he just wanted to be free from everything?

Why did she have to care? "Jordan-" he began and she looked up meeting his eyes. "Jordan I-it's just-" he tried to come up with a way to explain it all away. "Every time I close my eyes, she's there, reminding me how horrible I was, every time I turn around there's another reminder of where I've screwed up. Just go, Jordan. No point in being here, I know when I'm licked, and I've been knocked out."

She pulled him close and cried against his shoulder. "You're not." She said, and he sat there awkwardly with her half in his arms. "You're not done."

"I am. Every man knows his limits and I've reached mine." She shook her head.

"What happened to you Garret? You never were an optimist, but you were never like this before, you never were a downright pessimist, you always had some hope in you somewhere."

"Go read Nietzsche." He said simply. "He's got a great quote on hope." Hope had given up on him, he hadn't given up on hope. Hope had failed him, faith had failed him, he had nothing left.

"Garret, c'mon, you're the one that helped me back from the brink of death, you're going to get better-"

"Quit trying to convince yourself Jordan-" He broke off for a minute and stared at her. "I've given up, join the club." she glared at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Look at me Jordan, I'm a washed up old man who can't even kill myself correctly, I've given up on love, on life, no point in trying to convince yourself that I care." He was beyond caring, he didn't want to care, caring was what had gotten him into this.

"I don't care if you care. I care, Garret, its why I'm here-" He glared at her.

"So I guess I'm stuck enduring the pity parade and the sidelong glances from now on wondering if I'm going to be OK from everyone else around me. All of them constantly being on guard for the first sign of everything." She looked at him and shook her head.

"I haven't told anyone, Garret. I'm the only one who knows, even on the report it's down as an accident." he met her gaze. She had lied. For him. She had said that things hadn't happened the way they had to protect him. He felt a lump in his throat start to grow.

"Jordan-" He started and she kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Garret, you still have it in you." she said as she walked out, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve and standing up tall, the slight redness in her eyes the only sign that she had been crying at all, leaving him alone to think.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N So it gets lighter. For a bit. Don't let it fool you. Thanks for making this my most reviewed story on size=1 width=100% noshade>_She can have everything she wants  
But she doesn't know the way she taunts  
It's tearing me apart  
It's tearing me apart  
Get away, get up get away_

OAR-Get Away

* * *

He sat in the small office, looking around, bored. He had been summoned here, and he wanted to know why. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as to why, he just prayed it wasn't the truth. Jordan had said she hadn't told anyone, but he wasn't entirely sure about that. "Hello Garret." He turned to the voice in the doorway. He heard a slow exhalation of breath as she saw him as well. "Jesus. Jordan said you looked bad but-" He looked down.

"Hello to you too Renee." She sat down across from him. "So why am I here?" He asked and she shoved him a stack of papers. "What's this?" He started flipping through them.

"Driving directions to my summer house. Which is where you're going. According to everyone, you're working yourself to the bone. Not eating, not sleeping, just working. And you crash your car because you're too busy not sleepy and not eating to pay attention. You need a vacation Garret, I'm shipping you off, this isn't optional, you're the best we've got, and you've gotten the same stats as Slokum, so you don't need to work this hard. Take two weeks, relax, all you've done since-" She trailed off, not wanting to bring up the subject. "But I'm supposed to be the workaholic, go home, pack a bag, and I don't want to see you in Massachusetts's again for at least a week."

He glared at her. "I'm fine." He said and she shook her head before rummaging around in her purse. She pulled out a small compact and held it up to him.

"Look at yourself Garret." He stared at the reflection. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes were sunken in. "You look like something that should be rolling through the morgue not working in it." He had to admit she was right. He hadn't noticed his appearance. His beard was scruffy and unkempt, some of it longer than others.

"I'm fine." He countered again and she shook her head.

"You're not. I'm sending you away. And I want you to do nothing but sleep and eat the entire time you're there. You are not taking any work, you are forbidden from taking any and all work related calls and I'm telling your staff if they call you, it's their head on the chopping block. Go away for a week Garret, do yourself some good." She weighted the stack down with a set of keys.

"Here you go. You're going up to Vermont for the week, no ifs ands or buts. Ski or something if you MUST do something, but don't work. Please." She actually had a real note of concern in her voice. He met her eyes, and he could see that she was upset.

"Fine." He agreed, grabbing the keys.

"The car's parked in the garage beneath."

"Don't you need one?" He asked and she shook her head.

"You've got Eddy's. He doesn't need it." He fought back a smirk. "Just don't crash this one off a bridge, you break it you buy it." He chuckled, more because it was the response she was aiming for than anything and headed downstairs.

He climbed into the car and drove back to his apartment, packing only a few days worth of clothes. He would go out there, humor her, and come back. Or lock himself in there and never come out. Which the more he thought about it, the more and more appealing it sounded.

He could have another accident, one that Jordan couldn't prove was anything but. Sonny Bono had met his unfortunate end with a tree. But that sounded far too painful, he had skied into a tree before and had come away with only a broken rib and broken leg, but it was enough to not make him want to repeat the experience ever again. If he didn't die from that, he didn't want to put up with that pain.

He started the long drive up, hating every minute of it. He didn't want to be there, he didn't, where he wanted to be was at home with a nice bottle of scotch. But instead he was on the highway heading up to some remote corner of Vermont near a large lake and a ski slope. He turned up the radio to stop from falling asleep. He didn't need Jordan thinking that a real accident had been intentional.

He wanted to go home and crawl into a bottle and drink until well past drunk. He didn't care anymore, he had no reason left to care. He couldn't even blink anymore, he kept hearing her voice, no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it. There was a reason why he wasn't sleeping.

It was the worst in the hospital. He knew that it was the withdrawal that had been making it worse, but he had just wanted the sleeping pills, something to get rid of the nightmares. It was why he had started drinking. In the two days since he had been released, under the sharp eye of Jordan and the rest of the staff he had switched to coffee, downing it in the same way that he had gone through scotch. Which worked just as well to stop the nightmares by not letting him sleep.

He found the house and pulled to a stop, getting out and heading inside, making a pot of coffee as soon as he walked in. If he was going to be here a week he was going to need a lot of caffeine.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N Right, so this is less angsty Garret, but that doesn't mean he's happy. This is dark and depressing, and well, it may not be the last you see of DarkGarret, I'm starting to kick around ideas for this year's NaNoWriMo and well, the only things I can think of involve a somewhat depressive Garret...or essentially this fic with original characters and a few changes...But the next multi chap is G/J fluff, which is halfway through it's outline and I am doing all those drabbles...

* * *

_To be trusted is a better compliment than to be loved -George MacDonald _

* * *

The sound of someone knocking on the door startled him out of his reverie. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, it was a fog of jumbled thoughts, all of them running together, a byproduct of living off of caffeine, not sleep. He jumped as whoever it was knocked again. And again. He was already on edge. He walked over to the door and opened it. "What the hell are you doing here?" He growled at her.

"Well hello to you too. You going to invite me in? It's cold out." He glared at her but made no attempt to move.

"I mean it, why are you here Jordan?"

"Well I figured you might like-" He glared at her realization dawning on him.

"You don't trust me, do you?" The question hung in the air as she shifted back and forth in place, both from the cold and from trying to avoid answering the loaded question. "Jordan, I don't need you looking over my shoulder." He went to close the door but she stuck her leg in before he could. "Just go home." He ordered and she shook her head. "Home, or I'm going to fire you." She smiled slightly.

"I just drove three hours to get here, Garret. And now I'm standing out here freezing my ass off-"

"I didn't invite you over." He told her and she glared at him.

"Garret, can't you put your stubborn pride aside for one day? Didn't you tell me that believe or not some people actually do care about me? Well guess what, people care about you too." He frowned.

"Why?" It was one word that held so much meaning for three simple letters. She tried to think of something to say, something that wasn't a rush of words and at the same time tried to force her way in.

"Why? Garret, you're the one that saved me. The first thing you did right after we met was give me a way out, saving me from killing myself. You've been my best friend since then. I'm just repaying that favor. "

He finally relented and let her in, but made no move to offer her anything. She just looked so pitiful out in the cold. She stomped the snow from her boots and took of her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door. "I don't need a watchdog." He said, collapsing on the couch. He didn't want her to be here.

"Why, so you can be all alone so no one can find your body for weeks?" He glared at her.

"Jordan." He growled warningly.

"I'm afraid, Garret. You're the one that always tries to get me to express my feelings. And now you're trapped in whatever the hell you're feeling and not talking to anyone. Hello pot, this is kettle?"

"Do as I say, not as I do." He took a long swig of coffee, the long slow burn down his throat vastly different from the one that he wanted. She sat down across from him, staring intently at him.

"Garret-" She started again and he cut her off.

"Jordan, I told you to stop caring, you have no reason to care, so don't." He leaned further back into the cushions, reclining and kicking his feet up.

"I just want to help you." She said softly.

"You want to help? Go home Jordan, and let me die if I want to." There was a look of fear, of pain in her eyes. Suddenly she started laughing, bitterly.

"You know what? Titleman was right. You are the cowardly lion. You're too afraid of life without something to comfort you, to live it. You're afraid to live and you're taking the coward's way out, you've changed, you've become this reclusive little man who hates his life because you're afraid of it. You're afraid of not being perfect. Well guess what, no one's perfect Garret, but you're not the one I thought of as a coward, you have your faults but I never saw cowardice as being one of them. But the more I think about it the more I think you always were. You've always been a afraid, you've just tried to hide all your petty insecurities. At least Slokum acknowledged the fact that he was a self-righteous bastard with a Napoleonic complex-"

He found himself on his feet inches away from her. If she had been anyone else he'd have already been swinging at them. But this was Jordan, his best friend, he couldn't hurt her. He turned around and walked away, he couldn't believe the way that he had just almost come to blows with his best friend. With Jordan. "I told you Jordan, just go home." He said softly as he retreated back to the master bedroom, closing the door behind him, collapsing on the bed.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N-Like I said, it takes a lot to kill Garret, keep that in mind. Don't you just love insomnia induced psychosis? Believe me when I say that it is the freakiest thing you can go through-been there, done that-the halluncinations are really really scary...

* * *

_I've reached the end of my hallucination  
It left me without a thought  
And everything is green again...  
...I've reached the end of my hallucination  
It left me without a heart  
And you will soon be dead again_

_Nocturne-Hallucination_

* * *

She was there, standing in front of him, tantalizingly close. Her back was to him, she had no clue he was there. He didn't want to say anything to her. She suddenly turned out of nowhere. But it wasn't her, this couldn't be her. This was a wasted away version of her, there was nothing left of her, she was sunken, gaunt, skin and bones, but what struck him the most was how downright pale she was. "Daddy?" She asked him and he nodded. 

"Abby baby-" he started and she ran towards him.

"Daddy. I'm so scared, Daddy, save me." He reached out for her, but right before she ran into his embrace she changed.

"You can't save me now, I'm already gone, you should have saved me when you had the chance, but you couldn't. You never loved me." Suddenly there were two of her, one the monster, the other the little girl that he could still remember. The little girl clung to him for protection, begging him to keep her safe while the other one clawed at him.

"Daddy, it's so dark here and I'm so alone, read me a story and chase away the monsters?" He was breaking.

"See what you did to me Father? I went from that, a scared little girl to this, and you never noticed, you didn't notice anything in your life. Nothing but work. You're a waste, a horrible father." The monster clawed at him, scratching him, tearing at him. He could feel the nails clawing into him, but never drawing blood.

"Daddy, please, Daddy, save me, be like those knights in fairy tales." Both of them were at him, tearing him in two. He couldn't stand it, being split in half. The little girl was pulling him, tugging him down to her, to help her, save her, the monster was trying to tear him apart.

"You never loved me, or her, you only loved yourself. You didn't even love Mom."

"Daddy, be like Batman and stop all the bad men."

"All you ever cared about was your damn job. Getting the bad guys, and forgetting about your own family." The two forms of here were bouncing back and forth and he was tearing in two.

"Stop it, stop it please." He begged. "Stop, I love you, please." He fell to his knees, sobbing. "Please. Don't do this to me." Both forms turned and laughed mockingly at him before disappearing.

He sat up straight, drenched in a cold sweat. He felt horrible, nausea wracked him and he wanted to go rest his head against cold porcelain. He made it as far as his suitcase. He reached in and searched for the bottle of Tylenol that he had tossed in there, when his hand closed on plastic.

He pulled it out and stared down at it. One sterile scalpel that he had taken the night before he crashed, when being sober was a horrible option to have. He hadn't used it, he hadn't wanted something obvious then, and using the scalpel would surely have been obvious.

He looked down at it. He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't stand the nightmares, they were only getting worse and worse. He could still hear her voice, mocking him and begging him to help her, berating him, asking him how he could have missed the signs, asking how he couldn't even cry for her, and the little girl that was still there begging him to protect her. Both of them, ripping into him, clawing him apart.

He ripped it out of the plastic. It felt comfortable in his hands. It would be just like any other incision. Just along the vein. He traced one finger around his wrist, stopping it in the groove, feeling his blood pulse through it before lining the scalpel up to where the blood was throbbing through.

"That's right, fuck your life, you always were a horrible father." The voice was cold and mocking and he felt the sharp bite as he cut through his skin and he had just started to draw the blade up towards himself when he heard her voice again.

"Daddy, why? Why Daddy? Don't go Daddy, don't go." He looked around wildly for the source of the voice, wishing that she was there.

"No, go Father, you don't deserve a real death." He inched the blade closer to him when the door burst open.

A murmered "Oh my God." was the last thing he heard. He looked down at his hands, he couldn't have lost that much blood, could he?


	26. Chapter 26

A/N Ah the return of horribly angsty "let me die in peace" Garret...he gets better...but rock bottom is looming on the horizon... but I'm going to let the lyrics for this one speak. Sorta. I mean, they do a good bit about foreshadowing what's to come...And Jules, c'mon, can YOU see the little men in white coats dragging Garret off? He is NOT the prozac poster boy in the least, he hates having to talk to Stiles, do you think he'd open up if he was forced into one against his will? And can you see Jordan forcing him into one? Nope...and I ADORE House, I was just at the REAL Princeton Med last night getting my finger fixed up...

* * *

_Sick and tired of this world  
There's no more air  
Trippin over myself  
Going nowhere  
Waiting, suffocating  
No direction  
And I took a dive  
And on the way down  
I saw you  
And you saved me from myself  
_

_Ryan Cabrera-On The Way Down_

* * *

He felt sharp pain through his arm and he woke up and looked down to find a piece of gauze taped down to his arm, the faintest hint of red peeking through. He felt a gentle hand rubbing one of his, and he looked over to find her sitting there, a look of fear written in her features. She smiled, more out of relief than anything down at him. "You're alright." She said and he merely nodded. 

Whether or not he wanted to be was a different story. He didn't want to be, but hearing Abby's voice asking him why had stopped him, if it wasn't for that, he would be gone by now. "Yeah. I am." He said and she glared at him.

"Garret, please, don't, please, what'll it take to get you to realize that it isn't that bad, what will it take for you to realize that people care about you? Please." She was begging with him, pleading, clinging onto him, sobbing. "Garret-" She begged and he looked down at his arm guiltily. He shouldn't have stopped.

He should've kept on going, he shouldn't have let the voice stop him, he wouldn't have to worry about the woman sobbing at him, for him. He looked up at her and frowned, this was not what he had wanted when he put the scalpel against his skin. He had wanted to finally be free.

"Jordan-" He started and she gave him a long hard look.

"Garret, what it is, why are you like this?" He looked down again. "What drove you to this point, what is it that got you this far down?" What was it? It was a lot of things. "Start from the beginning." She said.

"How far back is the beginning?" He asked. "It started long time ago. Probably when Maggie and I split, that's when I started drinking a lot-" He started.

"But you were never that bad, you were always pretty good." He shrugged.

"I cut back, it was easier then, but once Abby was gone, I had nothing left."This was harder to do than he was making it sound."No reason to stop. Nothing to keep me from drinking myself to death, no reason not to do that." She looked at him.

"I'm not a good enough reason? Lily, Bug, Nigel, none of them are a good enough reason?" He shrugged.

"No." He said simply. "You're not worth the nightmares Jordan, you're not worth being up all night with only booze to drive them away."

"Why didn't you talk to Stiles, to Lily, to me?" He shrugged.

"Did you really want to hear about my problems Jordan? Did you really want to hear me say that I'd wake up every night because I kept seeing Abby mocking me for not noticing the signs? Did you really want to listen to me sound like the man that I am, wallowing in self pity?" She nodded.

"Garret, if I had known it would progress to this-" She said.

"There's nothing you could do about it anyway, what can you do for nightmares?" She shrugged.

"I don't know, but Stiles did something for mine. Garret, you have to do something, please." He couldn't take it, seeing her sobbing there. "Please." She repeated, and he pulled her close. "You have to do something about what you've done to yourself. I love you, the whole staff loves you, you're my best friend, I can't take this, I can't take losing you."

She pulled him close, sobbing into him. "Jordan-" He felt a lump building in his own throat. "Jordan, it's just so damn-you don't know what it's like." He said feeling threatening tears pricking at his eyes. "You don't know what it's like, the past six months have been absolute hell, every single night I'd see her, she keeps mocking me, telling me what a horrible father I was, reminding me of all the things I've done wrong, I've fucked up Jordan, fucked up big time."

He was trying to hide the tears that had escaped. "You haven't Garret, you were a good father-" He shook his head.

"I couldn't-" He gave up trying to hide the tears. "I couldn't even cry for her, Jordan, I couldn't shed a single damn tear for her. The only thing that would get rid of her was the booze and it's stopped working for me. There's nothing left Jordan, the nightmares won't stop, I can't sleep and I keep seeing her whenever I blink, even when I'm sitting here she's lurking, waiting for me to let down my guard-" He was rambling, not caring. "Jordan, I just want to be away from all of this, just let me go. Go back to Boston and forget about me."

He rolled over away from her, and she wrapped her arm around his waist pulling him close. "Garret, I'm here for you, no matter what." She said, burying her head against his slightly shaking shoulders. "Garret, you gotta get past this man, you're going to." Garret wondered which one of them she was trying to convince.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N Ah Garret, you're going to get better...I think. Well, I know what happens, but y'all don't...he's in for a "fun" ride, let me tell you...and I'm really annoyed, have you seen the new Bond? He's FUGLY! And they need to do more Ramones tunes on the show, C'mon, Alan has an IN with the Ramones...and Keridwen-Princeton Plainsboro is what happens when they combined Princeton Med (where I was) and RWJ Hamilton (where I've been) and chagned the name-there is no hospital in Plainsboro, just RWJ hamilton, Princeton and like 3 in Trenton...

* * *

_I don't care, I don't care, I don't care about this world  
I don't care about that girl  
I don't care_

_The Ramones-I Don't Care_

* * *

He spent the next few days ignoring her as much as possible. Every now and then she'd try and talk to him, and he'd always ignore her, giving one word answers when he could. No matter what she tried to do to initiate conversation he'd get out of it with as little interaction on his side as possible. He was all but catatonic, never showing any expression, hardly moving from his bed to the couch, occasionally eating something. 

He got up and poured another cup of coffee. He kept pouring the liquid, black, down his throat, hoping that enough caffeine would make up for the lack of scotch. It was serving to keep the nightmares at bay from sheer lack of sleep. He was so exhausted that when he did sleep it was deep and dreamless.

He pulled out the loaf of bread and stuck a piece in the toaster. "Is that all you're going to eat?" She asked and he shrugged, not talking. She sighed and got back to pan on the stove. "I'm making eggs you know, if you want some."

"No." He replied, taking a long sip of the hot liquid. He missed the long slow burn of a glass of scotch. Coffee just didn't have it, coffee just burned from the heat, not from the intrinsic warmth of the liquid. He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. But she wasn't going to let him drink while she was there.

"How's your arm?" He shrugged again. She had stitched it back up while he had been out, and he was at least glad for that, he didn't want to have to worry about being stitched without some Lidocaine. He'd done that once, and it was enough for him to not want to do it ever again.

The toast popped up and he crunched into it, not even bothering for butter or anything else to put on top of it. It was something to get her to stop nagging him, he was eating something, even if it was only a piece of toast. "Are you trying to kill yourself by spontaneously combusting from not talking for three days straight?" He had to fight back a smile on that one, she did still have her sense of humor. He sat down on the couch and channel surfed until he found something. Mindless sporting match, the Bruins vs Mapleleafs. He didn't have to think to watch it.

"You wanna go skiing?" She asked, sitting down on the love seat with her eggs. He shook his head. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to sit here. Most of all, he wanted to drink. He felt her eyes boring into him, and he still ignored her. "Dammit Garret, at least say something."

"Something." He replied and she groaned.

"Garret, please. Let me help you."

"I told you how you could help me." He replied, never turning his attention from the TV.

"Garret, do you have any clue how much you mean to other people? Do you know how much you mean to Lily? To Bug? To Nigel? To me? We've all sat on the sidelines watching as you slid further and further away from us-the same damn thing you did with Abby, we didn't want to see it, same way you didn't want to see her, but I'm not going to let that happen with you Garret, one person who died because nobody wanted to see is enough. You mean something to us Garret." He shrugged.

"I don't care." He said coldly, cruelly.

"Dammit Garret! Care about something, will you? What happened to passion you used to have-the fire, the spark, the Garret that would fight for what he thought no matter what?" He shrugged.

"Guess the fire got washed out." He said, taking another swig of coffee.

"Garret, you're my best friend, you're the last person I have left. My dad's run off someplace, I don't have Woody to turn to, you're my last one left-" He shrugged.

"I didn't ask to be that person, the last one you had left. I didn't say I wanted to be the one to hold you up." He got up to go refill his coffee mug and she followed him.

"You know what? Those nightmares of yours have something right. You're nothing more than a selfish bastard, you really are incapable of caring for anyone else on the planet aren't you? You're nothing more than the biggest, most selfish-" She was cut off by the impact of his fist.

They stood there in stunned silence for a long second. He stared down at his hand, still clenched, before looking back up at her. She had put a hand to her mouth, and he could see a slight trickle of red from between her fingers. He collapsed into a chair, head between his hands, and gave in, letting his whole body shake as he collapsed into sobs.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N-Garret hasn't hit rock bottom yet. But he's actually starting to make some progress...sort of. And as for why they didn't use Princeton Med on the show, they probably wouldn't allow it-it's the university medical center. And for those of you that liked Game Theory, I ran into John Nash while picking up my Xrays too...he's a scary looking fellow in real life, didn't get a chance to go "your equilibrium is one of the most interesting things I've ever studied" though, I was more kinda stunned that really up close and personal he's very much NOT Russel Crowe (last time I saw him he was way across a lecture hall.)

* * *

_Stay with me, you're the one I need  
You make the hardest things seem easy...  
...I need your help  
To pull me up, take the wheel  
Out from me  
Keep my heart  
Somewhere drugs don't go  
Where the sunshine slows  
Keep me close _

_Jimmy Eat World-Drugs or Me_

* * *

He looked up at her, at the slight trickle of blood that seeped through her fingers down her chin before dropping his head back into his hands and feeling his shoulders shake with sobs. He couldn't handle this, he hated it, he hated what he had become. He felt an arm wrap around him, and he shrugged it off. "Just leave me alone. Why do you even want to be near me?" He asked and she put her hand back. 

"Garret, I'm here because I care." She said, gently rubbing his back.

"Why? Why the hell do you care so much? You repaid your debt, you don't have any reason to care about me." She shook her head.

"Au contraire, Garret. I have every reason to still care about you. You're still my best friend. You're the one person I can trust, and you're like-" She trailed off. "Garret, it's alright-" She started and he stalked back to his bedroom. She followed him, no matter how hard he tried to shrug her off.

"It's not alright." He said, "I just punched you-I've sunk to a new low, Jordan, it's not alright, I don't like what I've become, I hate it-"

"Then why don't you change things? It's not too late-" She started and he shook his head.

"It is, I've given up, it's too late Jordan, I'm gone, just give up on me too." She sat down next to him on the bed.

"I haven't given up on you, Gar. I'm still here, whether you want me to be or not." He moved away from her.

"I just punched you Jordan, I just lost all control. I'm gone, Jordan, a lost cause. I gave up the day Abby died, I haven't been the same since, I never will be the same man. I'll never live again, there's no point in it, there wasn't any point in it before, but now I don't have a reason to keep on going. She died because of me, because I was too busy being a selfish bastard and thinking about how great it was that she was going to be going to Harvard and how wonderfully that was going to reflect on me-I didn't once think that something could be wrong with her." His shoulders shook as he sobbed.

"Garret, you didn't want to see, you refused to see, no one wants to see their child slide off the deep end. No one wants to see anyone they care for slide off the edge." She pulled him close to her, comforting him.

"I couldn't believe she was gone, she was just lying there, she just died, no warning. I couldn't feel anything Jordan, just despair. I wanted to hate Blake, I wanted to kill him for what he did, but I couldn't. You want to know where my spark is? Go check in the coffin that's buried beneath the tombstone that reads Abby Macy. When I lost her, I lost my will to fight Jordan, it's not worth it anymore." He turned his back on her, he hated feeling weak, feeling vulnerable.

"Garret, you still have it, it hasn't gone out, it just needs more fuel-you've still got the old Garret in you, you've just drowned him in scotch." He shook his head.

"I died along with her that night. I've been numb ever since, at least the booze let me feel something, even if it was despair-I'm happy just to feel something, even if it's pain. But I don't want to hurt anymore. I just want it all to go away. The pain, the emptiness, I want it to be over Jordan, I want all this to be done with, I don't want it anymore. I never asked for it, I never asked for any of it, and I don't want it. I don't want to keep on being the selfish bastard who can't shed a tear over his own daughter."

"Garret, what do you think you're doing now?" She asked and he shrugged. He was sobbing. Because of her. He was crying because of her. The first time he had ever done that. "It's going to be alright, you're going to be alright Garret, we're going to get through this, you're going to be back to your old self." He drew a ragged breath. This time he was just a little more convinced.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N Heeeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny. Couldn't resist referencing that movie. Had to. Garret gets worse, not better.

* * *

Humor is... despair refusing to take itself seriously. -Arland Ussher

* * *

He lay there on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She was next to him, arms wrapped around him, sound asleep. He had to admit, her presence was comforting to him, he had actually gotten five hours of sleep without a nightmare. But he was wide awake now. He closed his eyes, trying to see if he could force himself back to sleep. But sleep was evading him. 

After what felt like forever he finally gave up and slid out of the bed, careful not to disturb her, and into the kitchen. He rummaged through, looking for the instant coffee, making some in the coffee pot would surely wake her up. He found it and mixed it, fighting back a gag at the taste. It was the most awful stuff on the planet, but it was still caffeine. Still coffee.

He collapsed on the couch and flicked on the TV, trying to find something that wasn't a bad infomercial. But there was never anything good on at three in the morning. He settled on a movie that looked like a bad Leviathan rip off about a bunch of people in a submarine and everything was going wrong.

It was mindless, stupid, with no point. And he was enjoying it. It was something that he didn't need to think about, something to take his mind off of his problems. Off of the lack of something strong to drink, the lack of anything. He was empty, that's what it was. At least the alcohol made him feel something.

He ran a hand down his face, and stared down into the muck that was instant coffee. He could see in his reflection how broken he was, he was gone, he had nothing left. He had done something he had hadn't done in years the night before, completely broken down, he had just snapped.

He had done something he swore he would never do-hit a friend. Not just a friend. Jordan. A woman, someone who even though he knew she could fight back, wouldn't. He had split her lip open. And she was still there, still trying to comfort him. He didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve anything.

He downed another sip of the vile substance and leaned back against the cushions, making himself comfortable, stretching out. Waiting for the movie to end and something else bad to come on. There was never anything good on TV at three in the morning, he had learned that months ago. But he still looked for that one night where it would have something redeeming on.

She emerged from the bedroom about the time that the movie ended, and looked at him. "Good morning." She said just a bit to chipperly.

'It's a morning." He replied, another gulp of the coffee down his throat.

"Why not get out of the house Garret, go skiing." He shrugged.

"I'm quite comfortable." He said and she sat down on the love seat staring at him.

"You're just making things worse by wallowing in self pity. Go out there, you always enjoyed skiing before, it's something fun, something to take your mind off of everything." He shook his head and just stretched out more. "Am I going to have to drag you down the slopes?"

"If you want to go ski, go ski." He said, and she shook her head. He knew what she was thinking. He knew that she wasn't going to leave him alone in here. That she wasn't going to ever be far enough away from him to let him do something to himself.

"Garret-" She began and he looked at her. "Just do something, will you? You can't stay locked in here forever. I'm surprised cabin fever hasn't set in yet."

"Yes, well, I found a dead rotting woman in the bathtub this morning and there are the two little girls that keep asking to play-" She laughed, a genuine laugh.

"You still have your sense of humor Garret, c'mon-" He shrugged. He had even surprised himself with the joke. He had wondered where his sense of humor had gone, but it had returned, reared it's head and disappeared again. "At least go for a walk or something."

"A walk. In ten degree weather. I thought you came up here so that I wouldn't die." He was surprising himself with his humor's sudden return. It just came out of nowhere, maybe once it appeared it hadn't gone back to wherever it had been hiding.

"Skiing's fun, you know it is. Just do at least one run down, please?" It had been a long time since he'd gone down the slopes. And it might ease up on her watchful eye. She'd been all but hovering over his shoulder since she arrived, maybe doing something that she suggested would get her to ease up on him.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N I had to mention Sun Valley. Had to. And well, hey, I can't let the nightmares stop that easily-he's still not sleeping as much as he should, and well, it's possible to get those nice little insomnia induced hallucinations even if you do sleep if you didn't get enough REM sleep (I'm the insomnia hallucination expert...I can't be downstairs on the computer past midnight most nights cause I keep swearing I see the grim reaper coming up on me in the mirror next to the computer) and anyone who has all the music that I use quotes from gets a big huge shoutout next chapter for having amazing taste. Yeah emokids! And yeah, past history is enough to tell you that even though it may be fluffy NOW, in a few chapters it won't be...

* * *

_ So, it's sad this doesn't suit you now.  
And me fresh out of rope...  
Please ignore the lisp, I never meant to sound like this.  
So take me and break me and make me strong like you.  
I'll be forever grateful to this and you._

_Brand New -The No Seatbelt Song _

* * *

He had managed four runs down the slope before the memories came back. He had just started on his fifth when he swore he saw her next to him. He was teaching her how to ski, she was so small, she was only six when he and Maggie had taken the vacation out to Sun Valley and he had taught Abby how to ski. 

She had caught on fast, she always was quick. And before he knew it she was joining him on the regular slopes, not the bunny hill. The beginner trails, but still, she had just learned and she was a natural. And it became their bonding time, sort of. Both of them would ski, talk on the lift, but it was all small talk, it wasn't real bonding, it was too independent of a sport. But he had still thought of it as bonding time.

He barely knew his own daughter. He felt as if he knew nothing about her. And he just felt like that even more, every time that he thought back on her life, he realized how fuzzy entire parts of it were. He couldn't remember what had happened to her when he had Maggie had split, he had been too busy trying to work himself into oblivion to remember to notice his daughter.

He only paid attention to her when she had done something bad, he had taken her for granted, and she didn't let him forget it, every time he tried to sleep she was there to remind him exactly what he had done, how horrible he had been. How he was worse than an abusive father, at least an abusive father had some emotion towards his child.

He narrowly avoiding skiing into someone else and returned the rented skis, not bothering to wait for Jordan. She caught up with him as he was heading back to the car. "Where are you going?" She asked and he reached for the keys.

"Back to the cabin." He said, snatching them out of her hand.

"At least let me give the skis back." She said and he waited impatiently in the car for her to return. She seemed to take far too long for him and when she returned, he started the car up, driving just barely under the speed limit back, wanting nothing more than to curl up, do something, try and get the image of Abby out of his mind.

He wanted to drink. He wanted to go to the lodge and order whatever vilely alcoholic thing they had and down it. And another one. Three or four of them. Possibly even more depending on how vilely alcoholic the vilely alcoholic drink was. Enough to get him to the point of beyond caring.

But she wouldn't let him. He walked inside and headed into his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. She waited a good twenty minutes before coming in. "Hey, you OK?" She asked and he shrugged.

"I'm not dying, if that's what you mean." She gave him a sharp look and sat down on the bed next to him.

"You saw her again?" She asked and he nodded.

"I can't get her out of my head, no matter what I do, I keep seeing her, she keeps reminding me of everything that I did wrong." He frowned and rolled over.

"Garret, you did nothing wrong, you were a good father-"

"Jordan, I barely knew her, I never paid her any attention, I just wanted her to grow up and be something respectable. I was a selfish bastard-I wanted to see her be something for my own benefit. So I could say that my daughter grew up to be such-and-such. I forgot about her half the time, I ignored her unless she did something that took her off that path to becoming something-" She shook her head, sprawling out next to him.

"Garret, every parent wants to see their child become something. Max wanted me to be a doctor, hell, he still brags about me being one, he introduces me as Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, it's normal, it's natural. You did everything you could for her; you loved her, that's what matters."

"No." He said shaking his head. "I didn't love her enough. I wasn't there for her, I didn't love her enough to notice what had happened. I didn't love her enough to stop her before she began-" He could feel the tears welling up. "I didn't love her enough to feel anything at the funeral, I couldn't cry. I couldn't cry when I saw her there in the crypt, everyone else was sobbing, but I couldn't shed a tear. I couldn't feel anything about her when she died Jordan, I didn't love her enough."

She pulled him close. "No Garret, you loved her too much." She said, gently kissing him on the cheek, holding him close as the tears that had been threatening fell.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N-I didn't think of Jodan realizing that his mind would drift to family vacations. Her intentions were to only get him out of the house and there's not much else you can do in the middle of nowhere Vermont in the middle of winter aside from ski...Oh, and don't get too comfortable with getting better Garret. He's yet to bottom out. Anyway, make me happy when I get home from PSAT's and five hours of Red Scare...PSAT's, football game, and then rehersal for Music in Motion (which if you're in the Trenton/Princeton area you should go to, it's hosted at Steinert in Hamilton, and it's really fun! 2pm on Sunday!)

* * *

_  
_

_Maybe the songs that we sing are wrong  
Maybe the dreams that we dream are gone  
Bring it on home and it won't be long  
It's getting better man!  
Hey! what was that you said to me?  
Just say the word and I'd be free?  
And when the stars are shining bright  
We're getting better man!  
And crashing in upon a wave  
It's calling out beyond the grave  
And we're the fire in the sky  
We're getting better man!  
_

_Oasis-It's Getting Better_

* * *

He sat there on the couch, watching the news. He really didn't care what was going on in the middle of nowhere where he was, but it was something, it was either FOX news, NASCAR, or some bad show about bed hopping doctors. He went with the news. She was curled up in the love seat. It had almost become custom for them. 

He really didn't care about a random skiing accident that had happened that afternoon, or how much snowfall the little town was going to get. But still, it was at least mildly more entertaining than either of the other options. He took a sip of the hot cocoa that she had prepared, claiming that the only way to end a day of skiing was with hot chocolate.

And he had to admit, it was pretty good. It wasn't coffee, and it definitely wasn't scotch, but it did compliment a cold winter night. A log in the fire, hot cocoa, they looked the picture of a tacky Christmas card. His attention snapped into focus when he heard Boston crop up on the news.

They watched with rapt attention at the story. A car crash gone horribly awry-a massive pileup, they were estimate almost thirty cars. "Didn't this happen on an episode of ER?" Jordan asked as the news anchor started to read the current statistics.

He got up at one of them, and started for the bedroom. "Where are you going?" She asked and he looked back at her.

"There's at least twenty people dead Jordan, when they're dead, they go to the morgue, and last time I checked, the chief is usually there for a mass casualty." He said, grabbing his bag from underneath the bed and starting to throw clothes into it.

"Give me a minute to pack." She said, and she disappeared into her own bedroom. He didn't want to leave. He liked this place. He had to grudgingly admit it. But it was so far away from everything, from everyone. He didn't have everyone there to make sure he was alright, commenting on his lack of sleep. He didn't have anything to worry about up here, just Jordan looking over his shoulder.

He finished packing and waited for her by the door. "What about Rene's car?" She asked as he started for hers. He walked back inside and grabbed the keys.

"Follow me back." He said. She gave him a look, he could see the slight apprehension in her eyes. "Trust me, Jordan." His tone was soft and gentle and she looked once between the car and him.

"Don't do anything stupid. I'll be right behind you." She said and he smiled slightly, tossing his bag on the backseat of the car and starting it, pulling out and onto the highway.

Once he was in the car down to Boston, he let his thoughts travel. He had nothing really to focus on, the traffic was light and his thoughts kept drifting back to what had happened over the past few days. At least Abby wasn't creeping up in his mind, that was a good thing, he wanted to make it back to Boston without Jordan freaking.

He checked the rear view mirror to ensure that she was behind him and found her to be barely a safe following distance behind. He gave her a wave and a smirk and she simply smirked back He had the radio on full blast, somewhat upset that he hadn't brought any of his music with him. He could use some Charlie Parker right now. Instead he was stuck listening to some rock band sing about something.

But it was keeping him awake and half focused on driving. He was half focused on driving and half focused on remembering what had happened. For once, he had spent the better part of an hour both awake and not craving a drink. That had to be something good, right? Maybe she had done something good for him this week, maybe she had helped pull him out of his slow decline.

She helped to pull him up from the bottom. He wasn't quite as bad as he had been. He was recovering. She had been there for him, the one to save him. He'd be dead if it wasn't for her, he did owe his life to her. She was the only one who had chased after him, the only one who had tried to help him.

And he had tried to push her away, but he had to admit, if she was one thing it was stubborn. She hadn't given up even when he had tried to completely shut her out. She was always there for him. The lump in his throat for the first time in months was forming for a reason that wasn't Abby.

She had seen him at his most vulnerable. She had been there, pulled him close as he completely broke down. He hurriedly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He was getting emotional recently. He, Garret Macy, the man who was always the stoic, showing something that was a real emotion. He smiled faintly and pulled to a stop in the parking garage of the morgue.

It would not do for the staff to see that he'd been crying, he was their leader, fearless and strong in the face of an emergency. He stepped out of the car, the proud stance coming more easily than it had in months. He didn't need to force all of his outward confidence anymore, slowly but surely it was returning to his stature.

First his humor and now his confidence. Whatever she had done had worked wonders, and he had to bite back a grin. She walked up to him. "You ready for this?" She asked and he nodded. It was now or never, time to face the music.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N-Jules, you said something about pressure building? Muhahaha...and as for work, well, I don't want to give things away, now do I? I merely have to say, though, if you did not see this coming, please have your vision checked. You're more myopic than I am...this should have been sneaking up on you like a train in a Bugs Bunny cartoon...and while I highy suggest all the music that I use in this fic, I suggest Coheed and Cambria the most, they're amazing, they have a concept album series-all the albums that they do tell this cool sci-fi story...but even aside from that the music is good...scratch that, the music isn't good, it's flippin' sweet, its cooler than a liger...and Jeremy Irons is the man, god that man is sexy. He needs to do a movie with Miguel and Alan Rickman and Liam Neeson...and no matter what you think from this chapter, this one's not a G/J romance-merely friendship.

* * *

_ Would it really matter if you were to count the days left with your hands  
Your focus secure and the loves you left well  
Smiles staged in photographs here until..._

_Coheed and Cambria -The Light and the Glass_

* * *

He sat behind his desk, feet propped up, gently sipping his coffee. He leaned back and relaxed, enjoying the downtime for at least a little bit. He was almost afraid of it, afraid of what a few minutes of relaxation would bring about. He was was afraid of thinking of her, thinking about what had happened. 

He had spent the past three weeks throwing himself back into work, and it had been succeeding. But at the same time he was sleeping somewhat. More than he had been before. Every now and then Jordan would stop by, it was more like every free moment that she had she spent in his office, and he didn't mind.

She was comforting, soothing, she was the one that was keeping his secret, the one that was looking out for him. He heard the single knock on the door frame as she appeared and walked in, sitting on the couch. "Hey." He said simply as she kicked her feet up, mirroring his pose.

"Hey." She replied, and they sat there in amicable silence. He knew that she could sense the effect she had on him, the way that she seemed to help chase away the nightmares-he still had them, but they were less and less common. Less and less damaging. He didn't feel as bad after them, didn't wake up with the same compulsion to drink.

He still wanted a drink, still felt as if he needed it, but he didn't feel as if his life would end without it. He felt better. He was actually starting to make a recovery. And it was because of her. She had gotten him to break down, even if it had been by berating him far enough to punch her.

He smiled at her. "Got any plans?" He asked her.

"Tonight?" She shook her head. "Nothing. Unless Jeremy Irons decides to knock on the door and ask me to run away with him someplace-" He chuckled.

"Jeremy Irons?" He questioned and grinned as the faintest tinge of red crossed her face.

"There was nothing on TV last night but the third Die Hard movie-" He chuckled.

"Starting to check out older men are you?" She grinned.

"There is something-nice-about a man with a little mileage on him."

"Now why can't all women be like you?" He asked raising his glass in a mock toast. He meant it though. Right now he could use somebody to love. He needed someone like Jordan in his life. Someone just like her. Someone that could chase the nightmares away once he got home as well.

He was getting better, but he was starting to become more and more like her. There were times where he slept on the couch in his office, it was more comforting than his own house. He needed someone there to be a comforting presence in the middle of the night. He hated being alone in that house, with nothing but his own thoughts.

And she had been wonderful. She had been there when he had called, almost over the edge one night, had come over still in her pajamas, and had just sat there with him. He needed someone, just a warm body to help chase away the nightmares. Not even to comfort him after one, but just someone there to discourage him from having them.

He needed someone like her to help him sleep. Her, someone just like her, someone patient but stubborn, but most of all who cared. She cared. She was his best friend for a reason. She loved him for who he was, didn't care about whatever shit he was going through, she was still there for him, the way that he had been there for her.

"Because if there were more than one of me in the world the universe as we know it would be in complete and utter chaos?" He laughed.

"You're right. I don't the think the world can handle multiple Jordan Cavanaugh's running around." She grinned.

"Be an interesting sight though-" She was cut off by Lily peeking her head it.

"Hey guys, there's a pickup down by MIT-you guys got it?" They nodded.

"Yeah, sure." Jordan said, getting up, and he followed her out. They drove down the streets with the radio being the only noise. They pulled to a stop in front of one of the small apartments a block from the prestigious school's campus where there was a crowd of young men standing around.

They shoved there way through and up the stairs as directed by one of the men to the room where the body was. He pushed open the door that had been closed out of respect and had to fight back a wave of nausea as he saw what was in there.

Shaggy mouse brown hair hung down, hiding the length of long brown rope around the boy's neck, and as the body spun grotesquely in midair, he felt his stomach drop at the face that looked like it was in need of a shave. He felt her come up behind him and wrap her arms around him, gently pulling him out of the doorway, getting one of the other men to help her take the body down while he slid down the wall and took a few deep breaths, head down between his knees.

"Are you OK?" She asked him gently as she reappeared. He had heard the gurney being wheeled back down to the van. He nodded and she offered her hand to him to help him up.

"Fine." He said and followed her out.

"Garret-" She started and he cut her off.

"You don't have an autopsy scheduled this afternoon do you?" She shook her head.

"No."

"Good, you're assisting on Blake's." He said, closing the door and driving them back to the morgue.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N-If you catch the cryptic reference, I love you. I have a shirt with the reference and the logo...And also, so it begins again...Garret's on the way down...And like I said, if you didn't see it coming, well, you either didn't want to see it, or you're blind. I'm evil and demonic, and my nick is Snarky for a reason...and if you love Billy Joel you automatically get a gazillion instant karma points redeemable at any quik mart...and Jules, Jordan-well, you'll see what happens with Jordan. and Keridwen, i told you, if you didn't see it coming you musta had blinders on...

* * *

_But Captain Jack will get you high tonight  
And take you to your special island  
Captain Jack will get you by tonight  
Just a little push 'n' you'll be smilin'  
Yeah, Captain Jack will get you by tonight_

_Billy Joel-Captain Jack_

* * *

He flipped through the file again. And again. The meeting with the parents had gone better than he had thought it would. Jordan had insisted on being there, she had started to tell them, but he had to do it himself. He had to tell them that their son had hung himself, that there was nothing to prove anything else. It was a suicide, pure and simple. 

There was a copy of the note pinned to the file. He read it over again, he already had memorized it, but he still had to read it every time he flipped through it. It was short, blunt, and conveyed everything the boy had been feeling.

_"Football season's over. And I've spent the last seven months trying to fix my life-I've tried to change everything, and it keeps making it worse-I can't take it anymore, I caused her to die, I'm sorry-I never meant for her to die, I never wanted her to die, I loved her, and its my fault I killed her and no matter what, I keep being reminded of that-I killed the woman I loved, and I can't take it anymore. I've done everything to try and get her out of my mind and it just makes it worse-I don't want to forget her, but I don't to live with her memory either, I can't handle it. I can't handle it anymore. I just want it to stop-Every time I try to go to sleep the only thing I can think of is the way that I killed her, how it was all my fault, and I can't take it anymore, the guilt, the emptiness without her-I loved her and she's gone. I can't take it-I don't want to hurt anyone, please, don't be sad, please don't get upset, it's nothing anyone did, the only one who fucked up is me."_

The note was so raw, so emotional, written almost stream of conciousness. Blake hadn't known what to write, he just wrote down whatever came to mind. And the only thing that he could think of apparently had been the guilt. Blake had loved her, and couldn't stand living without her, haunted by her. Just like him. He was just like Blake, both of them, it hadn't only been Blake's fault, he should have noticed what was happening, he should have stopped it, but he hadn't.

He looked again at the report. The boy had been clean. For seven months. That's when Blake had started growing his hair, and his beard apparently. The boy had been a wreck, in absolutely horrible shape. Not eating, not sleeping, but clean, the last traces of drugs in his hair were seven months old. Seven months, seven months of nothing at all, no sleep, no food, it looked like he had just stopped caring about anything and everything, and he was sure that the boy had.

He ran his hand down his face. The boy had gotten clean, tried to straighten out, tried to become something for Abby's memory. And couldn't take it. He stared down at the fine white line in his arm. The stitches had been out for two weeks now, but the scar was still there. He had almost done it. He had almost gone and did what Blake had done.

He had been pushed to the edge just like Blake. He could feel the set of eyes on him, watching him. Jordan had been watching him carefully closely, never letting him out of eyesight all day. He was positive that she hadn't slept at all the night after Blake had come in, and he was pretty sure that she had been parked in the garage beneath his apartment.

He watched as her cell phone rang and she answered it, moving out of her perch at her desk where she could watch him through the window, trying to find reception. He got up and walked out, he couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going out for lunch." He said, sticking his head in to her office, knowing she was preoccupied with the phone call. By the time she realized it, he was on the elevator, heading down to the first floor.

He walked for a long time before he found himself the middle of Southie, looking around at what was there. Rundown apartments and ramshackle houses, he knew he was in a horrible area but he didn't care. He looked at the sign that hung on one broken down door and opened it, half expecting it to fall down as he pushed it in. But it stayed upright, he swore out of pure spite.

He walked up to the bar and ordered a scotch. He just needed one. One. One to take the edge off of the shock. Just needed one to bring him back down to earth. He took a sip of the amber liquid. God, how he missed the long slow burn that it traced down his throat. It had been far too long since he had last felt it. He spent a month without it, and he didn't want to miss it ever again.

He gulped the rest greedily. He was entitled to drink He had just stared what he had almost been in the eye. He had just cut the boy, his possible son-in-law open, and told what could have very well wound up as part of his family that their son had killed himself because of what had happened.

And he had almost done the same. He had almost killed himself for the same reason. That he couldn't forget her, that he loved her too much to forget her, and remembering her only hurt. Remembering her broke him down. He needed something to stave off the nightmares that would inevitably come back, he knew that she would show up again tonight, haunting him.

He drank down a second, a third. He gave up caring about anything. He had missed this far too much, He had missed the buzz, missed the feeling of numbness that coursed through him, the feeling of absolute nothingness. This was what he needed, this was what he wanted.

It was after the sixth that the bartender stopped him. "I'm fine." He protested but the bartender shook his head and called a cab, sending him home. He didn't want to be home, the nightmares would be at home, but he had no place else to go.

He trudged up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed, waiting for her to inevitably come. But she didn't, he had drunk her back into submission, the booze was working again to keep her at bay, he had been without long enough for it to work again. He grinned broadly at that realization as he allowed himself to fall back into a shallow slumber.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N Keridwen-think about what Garret's thinking here-Blake was sober and the boy still killed himself. If being sober doesn't work...Death, fun! I 3 death. Just kidding...or am I? I think the quote sums up this chapter quite well. I got nothing else out of that book (it was a nice read, but I found no incredibily symbolic truth in it, I liked it for that reason, it was nice, somewhat light reading). y'all want to see me get this out by the end of the weekend, don't you? But I'm thinking about saving the last chap for monday afternoon when I get home from school and before I head out to see Wynton Marsalis (for FREE!) _

* * *

"Because I don't choose. It doesn't matter what a man does if he's ready to take the consequences. Well, I'm ready to take the consequences. You talk glibly of giving up drinking, but it's the only thing I've got left now. What do you think life would be to me without it? Can you understand the happiness I get out of my absinthe? I yearn for it; and when I drink it I savour every drop, and afterwards I feel my soul swimming in ineffable happiness." -Cronshaw in W. Somerset Maughm's Of Human Bondage_

* * *

He took gulp, enjoying the long slow burn down his throat. It felt good. Too good. He took another gulp, leaning back against the cushions on the couch. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and flipped on the TV, searching for something, anything, good on TV. Bad movies and even worse shows were all that was on. He took another gulp. It could make anything better. Even bad TV. It could make ugly women beautiful and bad TV good. "Garret?" He heard the voice through the door. 

"Go away." He shouted, taking another swig. He didn't want her there, he wanted her to leave he, he didn't need her.

"Garret, let me in, please?" He voice was begging, something that he hadn't heard her do in as long time. He tried to recall if he had ever heard that pleading tone in her voice. He didn't care if he had or not though.

"No." He shouted back, taking another long slow gulp.

"Garret, we're all worried." He frowned.

"How many of you are there?" He didn't want the whole pity party camped out outside of his door, he wanted to be left alone, he wanted to be left in peace. He didn't want to be bothered by anyone else.

"Just me, but Lily, Bug, Nigel, they're all worried about you Garret, you just left yesterday and you didn't come in-" He shrugged, not caring that she couldn't see the movement, and downed another glass.

"Just leave me alone Jordan." He said and curled further against the cushions.

"Garret, let me in, or at least answer your phone." He heard his phone ringing and he glared at it contemplatively. He could just ignore it, but then she'd wind up shouting through the door at him some more. He reached out and grabbed it.

"Go away Jordan, I don't need you around." He didn't. He didn't need her anymore. He didn't need her to chase away the nightmares like she had done. He didn't need her there to soothe him, he didn't need her at all. The scotch was working again, he was chasing off the nightmares on his own. He didn't need her anymore.

He lifted the bottle to his lips yet again. "Garret, just do something dammit. Go to a meeting, rehab, talk to someone, Lily, me Stiles, do something, and not something stupid. Please." If there was one thing that could get through to him it was the lost, pained sound in her voice. He'd never heard her sound this downright afraid.

"I'm fine." He told her draining another long gulp. "I don't need anymore help." He didn't. He had all the help he needed right there, nestled in his hand. He had all the help he needed in every burning sip. He had one of the two things that could chase away his nightmares with him.

"Garret, please, just stop drinking long enough to think about what you're doing to yourself. Get sober, if only for an hour and take a long hard look at yourself." He shrugged.

"I'm coping, that's what I'm doing." He said with another gulp. "Goodbye Jordan." He said and hung up the phone.

"Garret-I meant it when I said I wasn't going to give up on you." She said just loud enough for him to hear it. He merely took another gulp from the bottle, letting the alcohol lull him into a light, dreamless sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N-Right, Garret's officially hit rock bottom. I used one of my favorite songs in this chap, it's another I suggest, its definitely the best song by the band, despite the subject matter-then again, I'm an emokid, I think nothing of the subject matter of the lyrics. Anyway, yeah, Garret's gone all the way down, and this time Jordan's not in the next room, nor is there a bystander with phone to call help, not like either would be of much use...And no, Jordan's not going to just go away, but there's nothing she can do if he won't let her...yeah, next chap is i think all you're going to get until tuesday morning-maybe monday night if i get a lot of reviews... _

* * *

_

_ You keep these feelings, no one knows   
What ever happened to the young man's heart  
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart  
I'm staring down the barrel of a .45  
Swimming through the ashes of another life  
There's no real reason to accept the way  
Things have changed  
I'm staring down the barrel of a .45_

_Shinedown-.45_

* * *

The phone rang and he ignored it. He knew who it was. He waited for the voice to come on. "Garret, Garret, are you there? Garret-just answer the phone for once please? At least let me know you're alright-" He rolled his eyes and relented. 

"I'm still alive." He growled into the phone before hanging it back up. He had given up on caring. The phone rang again and he listened to it go to his answering machine again.

"Garret. Have you been in there the whole time?" Not the whole time. He had ventured out twice-only to buy more scotch. The second time he had been smart enough to go out and hit every liquor store in the area and bought at least a bottle in every single place. He had a nice little stockpile of bottles surrounding him.

But aside from that he hadn't moved much. He'd gotten up to raid the meager scraps of food that were left, gotten up to go to the bathroom, but aside from that he'd hardly moved. He was afraid to look at himself in the mirror. He hadn't shaved. He'd been in there for a week. He'd stopped caring.

"Garret, please-" He could hear how close to the breaking point she was. She was ready to snap as well. And it was his fault. He was the one pushing her over the edge. He was dragging her down with him. He reached for the phone.

"Jordan, just stop, save yourself, you're letting me drag you down. Just leave me alone, leave me in peace, forget me Jordan-it's not worth it." He hung up again and found her calling him back yet again.

"Garret. Open your goddamn door." He heard her knocking.

"Jordan, I told you leave me alone. Just go." He didn't deserve her, he didn't deserve her unwavering faith in him.

"I'm not leaving Garret, not until you do something, anything. Just drag yourself out of there for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and talk to me face to face." He shook his head.

"I'm not moving." He replied.

"Do I have to break down the door?" She asked and he snorted.

"Jordan. Leave." His tone left no room for discussion. He heard her walk back down the stairs and his phone rang yet again.

"Garret. Do something please." He could hear the threatening tears in her voice and took a long gulp. He needed it. He couldn't bear the thought that she was that hurt. Over him.

He all but chugged down half a bottle. He rolled the thought of what she had said. He swilled down even more. He could see her again, see Abby there, berating him. "Hello Daddy." She called to him. "You've forgotten about me, you've put me out of your head. I'm still here Daddy, I'm still here. But why are you? Why are you still here, all alone? Why are you trying to compensate with scotch when there are other things you can do to make things better?"

He looked up at her, reached out for her. She was right. Why was he here? He had no reason to still be here. He would have been better off dead. He would have been. He rolled off of the couch and walked somewhat unsteadily over to the closet, pulling out the box that sat up on the top shelf.

The cold metal sat comfortably in his hand. He stared down at it, slowly sliding the bullets into each chamber of the small revolver. He snapped the gun back together, and gave the chambers a spin. He smiled faintly, this was it, the other two times had been test runs, there was no way to fail with this. He took another gulp of scotch and debated leaving a note, calling Jordan, something. Something to say goodbye.

The cold metal was a shock against his temple and he pulled his hand away, before putting it back. It didn't really feel all that awkward to hold the gun there, not as awkward as he thought it would. He moved his arm over to find himself literally staring down the barrel of the gun, polished black with only the slightest trace of powder left behind from one failed run at a shooting range.

He cocked the gun, and uncocked it. Playing with it, toying with it as he contemplated leaving something behind. He had his will, he left nearly everything to Jordan, she was the only thing he had left in the world. He had rewritten it after Abby-nearly everything had gone to her, but now he had no one else to give it to. Only Jordan.

He looked down at the cocktail table. There was a pen and pencil there, they'd been there for God knows how long. He picked up the pencil and toyed with it, thinking about what he could say. There were a lot of things he could say. But he didn't want it to sound maudlin. He didn't know what to write.

_I'm sorry, Jordan. _

That worked. Short, sweet and to the point. He was sorry for what he was doing, he wasn't doing it for any real reason aside than escaping the pain. It wasn't to prove a point, it wasn't for attention, it was to escape the grief and the guilt that kept weighing down on him. And she had tried so hard to help him with that, but no matter how hard she tried it wasn't enough. He frowned. He needed to tell her that, he couldn't just go without an explination, she needed to know that it wasn't her fault._  
_

_I'm sorry that I failed you-that no matter how hard you tried it wasn't enough-but it's not your fault, don't ever think that. I never meant to hurt you-anyone-I don't mean to hurt the rest of the staff-tell Nigel and Bug and Lily that they've been wonderful people. I just can't handle it anymore-Every day I'm reminded of how horrible of a person I've been. I don't deserve your grief. Move on with your life, get over me, please, don't get caught up in this, I don't want it to be that way, I'm just trying to get rid of all this, act like you never knew me, act like it never happened, just don't dwell on me. Jordan, I'm sorry, but I couldn't take it-it never was your fault. Thank you though, for doing all you have. Don't miss me, please. I love you Jordan, you've been my best friend, you've been my one to count on, you're the only family that I have left, you're the only one that I have-just don't get wrapped up in this, please. I know you've begged me not to do this, and I've tried, but I failed. Goodbye Jordan. _

He finished writing and looked it over. That was much better. He had done it, told her goodbye, signed away his life. He didn't deserve her grief, he apologized, gave a reason, told her not to mourn for him, he didn't deserve her being depressed over him. He signed the bottom of the note as the realization that it was the last thing he would ever sign crept up on him. It was the last time he would listen to Brubeck. The last time he would do anything.The last time he would hurt.

He picked the gun back up and looked at it again. It was so small, smaller than he ever thought it would be for a revolver, he had seen small ones, he knew Jordan's wasn't that much smaller, but it still felt strange. But it was comfortable in his hand, heavier than he thought it would be, but it wasn't unbearable. He leaned back against the cushions as once again his hand raised and cold metal was against his temple.

He just wished that she would follow his last request. He didn't want her to mourn for him. He didn't want to ruin her life because he couldn't handle his. She desreved to live, live a full and healthy life. She didn't need to feel guilty about his problems, there was nothing she could do, she had tried everything and it wasn't her fault that everything wasn't enough. He didn't want to drag her down with him.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N if there's a chapter where I suggest the lyrics, it's this one...Garret's hit the edge, he can't take it anymore. And that's fun, it's a good thing, at least to me. Because I'm morbid like that. And I like listening to songs about suicide with my friends (to quote my friend Katie "we listen to such depressing music we need happy pills!") I've enjoyed writing angsty suicidal emokid Garret (now that's a thought, Garret in girlpants and hornrimed glasses with a emoshag toupee...). You're not going to get the conclusion to this until probably tomorrow night, depending on the response is whether or not you get it after I get home from school or when i get home tomorrow night after I go out...although if I get like ten reviews, I may just actually have to finish this tonight...

* * *

_ Your life has been so hard  
It's dried up angels that can't keep guard  
I'm trying to reach your hand  
But I'm on fire  
I never planned to fade... away  
Stay with me  
Stop pretending when they say that you're nothing  
Are you sad?  
Are you holding yourself?  
Are you locked in your room?  
You shouldn't be..  
I'm drowning inside your head  
Help me to answer  
Help understand  
Why it's been so long since we talked like friends  
Please, forgive me,  
I'm just a man  
Whose made mistakes_

_Our Lady Peace-Are You Sad?_

* * *

He stared down at the note. Jordan. The whole thing was to Jordan. He couldn't do this, he couldn't go without saying goodbye to her, he couldn't go without hearing her voice one last time. He picked up the phone and dialed the phone number that had been drilled into his head. 

"Garret?" She questioned. She sounded surprised. He didn't blame her, she had every right to be surprised, he'd only picked up the phone to snap at her over the last week.

"Jordan?" He checked. She sounded different. He wasn't quite sure how, but just very different. Tired, broken, the same way he knew he sounded.

"What is it Gar? What do you need?" Her tone was eager, she wanted to help. She wanted to help him. She was so eager to help him, it hurt him. She wanted to see him get better, she didn't want to see this happen, but she couldn't stop it.

"Jordan, I just wanted to say thank you." His voice was low and quiet, soft, gentle. He didn't want to hurt her. He had to smile a little, the pain was finally going to stop.

"For what?" She asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice. She couldn't tell what he was doing. He felt horrible for it, for doing this to her, but he had to. It would only make him feel worse if he didn't. He couldn't stand living with the pain any longer, living with Abby haunting him every time he turned around, mocking him.

"For getting me this far. I wouldn't have made it if it wasn't for you Jordan." He could hear the faint gasp. She realized what he was doing, it had dawned on her what he was thanking her for.

"Garret, no, please, don't." She was begging. Pleading. He was breaking with every word. It hurt so much. She was the only person he didn't want to hurt, she meant too much to him.

"Jordan, just leave, please. I know you're there, just leave." His voice had an edge to it, he knew he sounded broken and hollow. It was how he was feeling. Empty, broken, useless, damaged.

"Garret, no, don't." The sharp click of a the hammer being pulled back echoed through the line as he played with gun, twirling it, putting it up against his temple and back down again.. "Don't." Her voice was raw, emotional. She sounded like she was about to snap.. "Just, please. I'll be up in a minute, just don't do this. Think about it, think about what you're doing."

"I have thought about it." His voice was mockingly light. "It's why I'm doing this. The more I think about, the better and better it sounds. Just leave Jordan, you don't need to be here for this, I don't want you to be here for it, just go home and forget about me." He spun the chamber around in the gun, before snapping it back into place. Every passing second it was getting easier and easier, it was hurting less and less to listen to the pained tone in her voice. The idea was getting better and better and better every second more he thought about it.

"But I couldn't do it, I can't do this, not without just saying thank you for being the only one who believed in me. I just had to call and tell you goodbye." He had to do it. Something compelled him to do it, to call her, to tell her goodbye, to tell her how sorry he was. He had to tell her, she had to be the last person that he spoke to, she was the one person that he loved the most, the one that he had left, she deserved to know, to not just walk in and find him there.

"Garret-" She gasped. "Garret, please, just, don't." She was pleading with him. He wanted to stop, but it would just be delaying the inevitable. Procrastination would only make things that much worse. Every minute, every day that he didn't do it, it would just make the pain worse and worse.

"Jordan, I love you, you're my best friend, the last one I had left, you're the only one who I could trust, you kept my secret. But, Goodbye Jordan. I'm sorry Jordan, I really am, but goodbye." He hung up on her, the line going dead. He stared down at the phone, hanging it back neatly on the charger. He smiled faintly at the move. It wouldn't really matter if it charged or not, would it? It didn't matter that his house was a mess, it wasn't as if he was going to be brining anyone home. Nothing mattered.

He gave one last look around his apartment before driving the cold metal into his head, gently stroking the trigger, making sure that everything was as it should be. He had called her, said his apology, said his goodbye, he had payed his bills off the day before, one less things for others to worry about. Everything was in order, the morgue would go most likely to Bug, as much as he favored Jordan, the thought of her in a posistion of authority was simply something his mind could not process; Bug could play office politics and had no adversion to paperwork, it would be in good hands with Bug.

No, there was nothing that he was leaving behind, nothing that he was leaving undone. He smiled faintly, taking one last gulp of scotch, enjoying the long slow burn down his throat before his hand closed down, and his finger pulled the trigger back. The last thing he heard was the loud blast of the gunshot echoing through the loft.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N-See the end

* * *

_Casually I confide  
Awake and paralysed  
Forever in one word  
Forever is the longest time  
It's the only one I'm not sure I'll survive  
This is not a new game  
So don't think that you know  
Can you see these blood shot eyes  
Can you see  
That my strength is failing  
I can't go on this way  
This hearts not beating  
It just doesn't seem the same  
My strength is failing  
I can't go on this way  
Promise me  
Promise me  
Promise me you will not ever leave_

_Funeral For a Friend-Recovery  
_

* * *

He sat there for what seemed an eternity, the gun dangling limply from his hand. 

He took a long deep breath, trying to contemplate what just happened. He could feel the blood, but he didn't care. He took another long swig of scotch, just sitting there, staring into space.

He heard one, then another kick on the door and watched, distant, as the locks, then the hinges gave way and she walked in. There was a sharp intake of breath as she took in the sight. "I flinched." he said simply, taking another long gulp of scotch.

"Garret!" She gasped, throwing her arms around him. "Garret-you're alive!" Her cheeks were wet with tears as she nestled her head in the hollow of his neck. "Garret-I-I-I thought." He wasn't sure what the tears were from this time. He assumed joy. But he wasn't quite sure.

"Thought I was gone. No, I even fucked that up." She shook her head vehemently against him. She looked so fragile, so broken. She looked up at him.

"You're bleeding." She pointed out, gently touching the back of his head. He shrugged. He couldn't feel it, it didn't hurt that much. He just knew that it was there, it was a dull throb, and he could feel the blood dripping down his neck.

"Yeah." He said as she looked at it.

"You need stitches." He shrugged.

"I'm fine." He didn't want to talk. He was supposed to be dead. He wasn't supposed to be here, he was supposed to be in whatever the afterlife was.

"Garret, you've got a six inch long gash along the back of your head where you missed. At least let me stitch it." He shrugged and took another gulp. He didn't care. Let her do what she wanted ."Garret, are you there?" He turned to look at her.

"Look at me Jordan, I can't even kill myself properly-I've tried three times and failed three times, I just want to be free from everything. The scotch helped, but it stopped, and it started again, up until now. Now she's there, haunting me, I can't take it anymore Jordan, just let me go, there's five more bullets in there." He put the gun back up to his head, pulling the hammer back and she grabbed his arm, pulling it back down.

"Garret, don't. You've failed three times, you don't really want to die, you don't really want this. You want to survive Garret, there's still the you I know lurking in there, there's still the spark, the fight in there, you're not done yet Garret." She was begging, pleading, sobbing. She didn't want to see him dead.

"I'm done. I'm dead, Jordan, I'm just going through the motions. I've been dead for a long time, I've just been taking up space, breathing, sleeping, drinking, but never living. I haven't felt alive in almost a year. It's been eight months Jordan, eight months and I can't get over it. Just leave me alone and let me do this."

She pulled him close. "Garret, I'm not going to let you-you mean too much to me. If you go, I'm going to take that gun and do the same thing to myself-I don't have anything else. My dad's run off, Woody isn't there, Lily and Bug and Nigel have all been avoiding me, they don't want to know what's wrong, they just leave me alone, and if you go, it's going to break apart everything that we have. Garret, you're the only thing I have left-" She was sobbing into his shirt.

He held her close. Was he really the only thing she had? He didn't want her to go too, he wasn't going to drag her down with him, he didn't want to. "You have so much more than I have-my reputation was destroyed, I'm going to be retiring soon, I don't have all that much time left anyway-you still have to go get married, have kids, get to the top, grow up, I've done all that, and want to end it all, on my own terms." He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Now go, Jordan, let me be."

She didn't loosen her death grip on him. "I can't, Garret. I can't let you do this. I'll do anything Garret, just don't do this, you can get better, you can get something to make the nightmares stop, there's something you can do, you're not lost Garret, you're not so far down that you can't climb back up." She sounded so convincing. He wanted to believe her.

He wanted to do something. He wanted to get rid of the nightmares. He didn't want to hurt her. He just sat there, letting the gun fall from his fingertips. She picked it up and set it down on the table, and just held onto him for life itself. He wrapped his one arm around her, letting the tears fall down and soak his shirt.

The alcohol was wearing off and he could feel the stinging pain in the back of his head. He winced slightly and she looked up at him, at the blood that was starting to dry. "Don't you keep a suture kit?" She asked and he nodded.

"In the closet." She got up and handed him the bottle in the process.

"Drink up, this is going to be your last one ever. I'm not going to let you do this Garret, I don't care what it takes, I can't let you slide off the deep end like this again." He merely nodded. She was more talking at him than to him.

He could hear the words, he was listening, but it wasn't affecting him. He didn't care. He was beyond caring. The antiseptic felt cold and bit into him as she gently cleaned the wound. It wasn't that deep, but it stretched from just about ear to ear. He doubted if you could even see the bone, despite the lack of flesh there.

She was quick and adept with the needle though, stitching him up with a practiced ease. "Jordan?" He asked as she curled back around him. She felt so comfortable there, so right, his protector, his savior, the one who had been on his mind the entire time.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Why do you care so much?" He didn't know why she was doing this.

"Because I love you Garret, you're the one who saved me, you're the only one I have left-I have no one else to love. All of the others that are my friends, they just aren't the same-you know more about me than anyone, even my father. I trust you more than anything Garret, and I love you for that, No matter what happens, what you do, you're still Garret. And I don't care what you do so long as you're happy. Do what it takes Gar, I'm going to be here for you. I'll do anything for you." He held her close to him.

He was sick of the pain. He was sick of hurting, of drinking to make the pain go away hating it when the pain got worse and worse when he was sober. He was sick of failing at suicide. He was sick of everything. He looked at her, nestled against him. She would do anything. She said it. She met his eyes with her own. "Jordan-" He croaked softly. He didn't want to admit defeat. "Please. Help."

She looked stunned for a minute before she leaned up and kissed him gently out of what looked like sheer joy. "Anything Garret, I'm more than willing." The grin on her face made him feel better, whether he wanted to or not. Maybe she was right, maybe there was that spark in him that didn't want to go out. Maybe he still had a chance. Maybe this time he was going to make it.

* * *

A/N-this is a happy compromise between the Jordan in my head who wanted to turn this into a romance, my Beta reader who wanted nothing else but to see him live, and myself. well, not really, they won. I lost. I wanted to end it with the last chapter told from Jordan's point of view, she hears the gunshot ring out and just leans over the wheel of her car, sobbing. I have it all pictured in my head, just the sound, Jordan wincing, a second long pause and then the tears. But no, people didn't want that, so Garret lives-at least to see a sequel. The sequel is much much less angsty than this one, it's pure fluff compared to this... 

I got my way by killing him off-twice-in two drabbles that'll show up sooner or later on here. He just didn't die here. I wrote a nice drabble that uses the slump over the wheel of the car scene. And another one where he's dead and it's everyone kinda reacting to it.

And Jules-he knew all along how selfish it was-hence his constantly reinforcing the way he tells Jordan to stop caring-he knows he's going to hurt her and doesn't want to.

And I would also like to thank all my faithful reviewers, seriously, if it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't have enjoyed this fic at all...well, I would have loved writing it, but not posting it, Jinubean, Keridwen, Jules, all of you, you guys are what make writing fun for me-reading all your great reviews as to why you love it, and GE-I know I already know what you think. It doesn't mean I don't enjoy having the good stats. This fic has gotten me a 3-1 review ratio when all is said and done, and it's the best I've ever gotten on a multi-chapter fic, it's also something to make me proud in that it's the first multichap I've written where each chap averages about 1000 words...I feel good. And proud. And that's largely because of you guys, thanks.


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